From Darkness
by bleak reality
Summary: Will remain forever unfinished for now. See last chapter for explanations.
1. Darkness

****

Darkness

~~~~~

If it were up to my father I wouldn't have a name. But Mother whispered in my ear before I was pulled from her arms for the last time. She whispered a single word whose meaning couldn't have been more suitable for the way my life turned out - Leila. It means darkness.

Father wanted to pass me off as a muggle orphan, but couldn't because I would be recognised. I may have no magic in my blood but I do possess the trademarks of my family's line: platinum blonde hair and eyes such a pale blue they appear silver.

Ah yes. I hear your sound of surprise. Who would believe that the words Malfoy and squib could be attributed to the same person? Most certainly not my father.

I have a brother. Even if the house elves hadn't told me all about him I would still know that truth. Twins share a bond, some people say. I can vouch for that. I know when he wakes and I know when he sleeps. Sometimes I dream what he dreams. And I know he doesn't know I exist. Because Father wouldn't allow for that to happen. Father doesn't allow for very much at all, I've discovered.

But I digress. There is a point to this story. It's not finished yet, but I do believe it has a point to it.

At this present moment I'm lying on the floor in the kitchen of the Leaky Cauldron, a wizard hotel in London. And I'm telling you my story while I'm supposed to be sleeping.

So, lie down next to me; fold your hands behind your head and stare at the ceiling, as I do. Maybe the white plaster will be like a muggle movie screen, patterned with the scenes I relate to you. And when I have brought you up to date, you may wish to follow me and discover the rest of my story as it unfolds. But that is up to you.

I'm fifteen. I don't sound like I am, but I am. My brother is about to begin his fifth year at Hogwarts. I look a great deal like my brother, according to the elves, excepting the fact I am a girl. Of course there are differences other than that, mainly due to my environment. I've been living in a small cell underneath Malfoy Manor since it was discovered I was a squib, which was about fourteen years ago now. The elves cared for me as best they could, without disobeying Father. I know the ways of house elves better than the ways of wizards.

I do not know why Father did not kill me. I think he wished to, but perhaps my death would weaken my twin. I can only guess.

But at any rate he was forced to keep me, living in the darkness underneath the ground. My night vision is excellent. I cannot eat more than a few mouthfuls at a time, for I have never had an abundance of anything but darkness. The room I lived in was cold and always damp. I believe Father hates me.

I apologise if this makes little sense - I'm not used to being free to talk.

I bear scars. Not many, but enough. He only used the spell on me once, that spell that makes one curl in upon themselves and numbs all thoughts excepting those of the pain. I know why he only used it once. I didn't scream.

I've heard my brother screaming. I've felt his pain knife through me.

But I didn't scream. I never did what Father wanted me to. Well, at first I did, hoping that if I was as much like him as possible than I might win his favour. But he hated the way I would hold up my head when he swore at me, the way I crawled back to my feet after he threw me against the wall, the way I was able to perfectly mimic his sneer of disgust and his condescending tone. He hates the fact that I am so much like him. I am more Malfoy than my brother is.

It was Dobby who freed me. After he left I missed him, for he was the only elf who would dare to comfort me, who would dare to do more than feed me.

But he returned, only a few weeks ago now. And he unlocked the door to my cell and led me through the Manor I had not seen in years, until we reached the outside and I saw something I had forgotten existed.

The sky. I still believe that the night sky is one of the most beautiful things on this earth. I certainly won't ever forget the sight of it that night, a full moon so bright it hurt my eyes, stars that shone, like a velvet cover over the world, with pinpricks where the light from beyond streamed through. I must have stared for a full ten minutes before Dobby persuaded me to move. The enormity of what he was doing was making him shudder, and he muttered "Bad Dobby," under his breath constantly.

So I followed him, and he brought me to a safe place. Here. For the past two weeks I have been doing kitchen duties to earn meals and a place to sleep. The owner does not know who I truly am, which is of course safest for everyone concerned.

I have received a letter from Professor Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts, and tomorrow I will be collected by a teacher from the school, named Hagrid, and taken to the castle. I know I won't be a student there, I have no magic, but at least it may be a safer place, a place where Father won't find me.

Well, that's the story so far. I prefer to sleep on the ground, but you're welcome to a room. I suppose I'll see you tomorrow morning.

Goodnight.

~~~~~

Okay, this is my first serious HP fic. Should I stick to parody? I don't know if this idea has been used before, it sounded original to me.

Just so you know, Leila will not be paired with _anybody_. This is not a romance fic. It's just the events of fifth year seen through her eyes, although her presence my cause some interesting complications. She has no powers, magical or otherwise, she will not provide the key for Voldemort's downfall, she will not play matchmaker. She will get to know the main characters, but _only_ as friends. Sorry.

Tell me if you like this or not. If you leave a pointless 'this sux' don't expect me to acknowledge your existence. J Thankyou for your time.


	2. Light?

****

Light?

~~~~~

Light is what wakes me. A voice whispers "Lumos," and I jerk upright. My first thought is of Father, and I scramble to my feet so he will not have an excuse to kick me but -

He's not here. The cook is looking at me strangely, holding his wand above his head.

"You've got a visitor, girl."

I blink. "I beg your pardon?"

"In the lounge. Big fella, black hair."

"Oh." I walk out of the room, the cook still looking confused behind me.

The term 'Big fella' is a gross understatement. The man is a giant. Standing from the sofa before the fire, he holds out a hand as big as a side of beef and smiles.

"Name's Hagrid."

"Pleased to meet you sir," I shake his hand. I'm aware that his sheer size should be intimidating but he seems like a nice man. When I call him 'sir' he almost blushes. How odd.

After this introduction neither of us knows what to say. We both know what he's here for but getting to that point may take a while. The fire crackles and flickers its friendly light around the room. Through the windows I can see the grey dawn is only just beginning.

I dislike interacting with people. At least with father I knew how to behave: I hated him. I still hate him. But I don't know what to do now.

"We're best to be off now, then."

Thank heavens.

"Yes," I step toward the door.

"What about yer things?" Hagrid asks, twinkly black eyes confused.

"I don't have any things besides what I'm wearing, and even these are on loan," I pluck at the sleeve of my brown jumper, wishing I owned something nicer than second hand jeans and sneakers that are too big. But they are still the nicest clothes I have ever worn. At home the house elves were better dressed than I was.

"Oh. Alright then."

We leave the Leaky Cauldron. I don't have the chance to say thankyou or goodbye to the owner, and for that I am sorry.

Hagrid has a motorbike to match his size. He gives me a helmet and I perch on the seat behind him.

Are you with me, shadow in my head? Good. Let's continue this together then.

With a roar he kicks the engine into life. And so begins the journey to Hogwarts. To be perfectly honest, I'm terrified.

~~~~~

Hagrid slows to a halt. I open my eyes, sitting up from where I was slumped against his back. The warm sunshine had lulled me to sleep.

"We're here."

Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I have no idea what I'm going here. Above me the walls of the castle loom, reaching into the clouds. I'm awed.

On the steps before the main doors, an old man stands. Long white hair, dark . . . robes. Robes are what wizards wear. I should know that.

Hagrid strides up the steps three at a time, I try to keep close to him. Time enough later to goggle at the lake, forest, open, _open_ lawns and the majestic castle itself. The old wizard smiles as I approach. He looks kind. Very kind. And there is a hint of regret in his eyes. Why is that there?

The giant and the headmaster exchange pleasantries. Then Professor Dumbledore turns to me.

"Miss Malfoy."

"Yes sir."

He raises his hand and places it on my shoulder. I try not to react. Smooth face, blank gaze. I may have no power in my blood, but I'm still a Malfoy.

"Come with me please."

In through those massive doors, and deeper into this place. It's so unlike the Manor. It's more . . . textured here. Warmer. Rougher. And more friendly. The paintings smile and nod, they don't glare or ignore me. It's strange here, but I feel like I could get to like this castle.

Dumbledore leads me to his office. You're still with me, shadow? Good. Here, sit down on the couch as I do.

The old wizard sits down opposite.

"Dobby told me about you."

I cannot conceal surprise. "You know Dobby sir?"

"Yes, he came to work here after your father released him by mistake."

I nod. The elf has told me the story of his first sock, if only briefly.

"Dobby told me that there was a girl being kept in the cellars under Malfoy Manor. I asked him if he could find out more about this girl. It seems he thought best to bring you in person." He sits back in his armchair, fingers toying with his long beard. "May I ask why Lucius would keep his daughter in a cellar?"

"I'm a squib sir. I have no magic of any kind."

"Hardly an excuse to keep you in a cellar my dear," he pauses, looking sheepish. "I do not even know your first name."

I hesitate. My name? "My name is Leila." How good it feels to say that. He tried to deny me a name. Yet I have one. How do you like that Father?

"Leila," the headmaster smiles again. "Tell me about yourself."

I keep it skeletal. I skip the curse, I skip the pain, I skip the cold and the damp. I tell him of my twin, of the elves looking after me. I cannot leave out Father's hatred; it's part of the story.

I hear my voice go cold. It's like I'm talking about somebody else. It doesn't feel like I'm here, not really here. Detached, that's the word.

The headmaster nods and listens to my story. When it's over he offers me a drink; I can only sip water. And then he makes the arrangements.

The issue is out of my hands for a moment, and I like the feeling. I'm to stay at Hogwarts; I'm to live in the castle. I will not join the school; it's best if my presence is not widely known. I will work with the house elves, and they will care for me. Dobby will be my friend. If I need anything at all, I'm to ask for Professor Dumbledore. I will be safe here.

And this feels good. There is an emotion between my ribs that is so warm, like the sunshine, like stars. I will be happy here. I know I will.

~~~~~

Hmm, this is beginning to border on Leila having an invisible friend. Ah well, I like it.


	3. Elves

****

Elves

~~~~~

As I enter the kitchen I hear a shrill yell.

"Mistress!"

I stagger as a small bony something collides with me and wraps its arms around my leg.

"Dobby?" I am no less pleased to see the elf as he seems to be to see me, but Malfoys do not yell. I may hate my father but I will not refuse the name he gave me.

The house elves give Dobby sideways looks as they move forward to give me a more sedate greeting. Already they have their instructions from the headmaster. Dobby pulls back from me and I kneel to hug him. The elves surround me, all strange faces save for the one closest, but suddenly I feel like I've come home. These creatures are not my kind, but I have seen such knobbly joints and bulging eyes all my life, and they have been kinder than any being of my own blood.

"Welcome miss Leila," the words are murmured all around me, over and over. Dobby corrects his earlier mistake, and he uses my name. I am no longer his Mistress.

"Miss Leila. Dobby is pleased to see you."

"I'm pleased to see you too Dobby." Such small words that don't sum up what I'm feeling.

From a world of darkness I have been thrown into a world of brightness and goodness. It threatens to overwhelm me.

But I'm a Malfoy. And Malfoys never cry.

~~~~~

Once again, I'm standing at a sink, doing the washing up. A tiny elf - even for an elf he is small - is beside me, drying the dishes as fast as I can wash them.

Pan smiles toothily.

"Miss Leila is new to cleaning."

"Yes," I sigh, plunging my hands back into the almost too hot water. Pan flicks his towel and with a word from him it is dry again. He lifts the next plate. Elf magic never ceases to amaze me. Magic of any kind never ceases to amaze me. Perhaps it's my distinctly non-magical nature that makes me notice these magical things more.

Dobby is in the next room, preparing lunch for the staff. The school year has not yet begun, and Dobby has promised me that he will show me around the castle and its grounds, once the cleaning up from lunch is finished. House elves think first and foremost of their work, all the tasks that must be done. Only when everything is in its place will an elf stop working. I find them admirable, if a little masochistic.

The elves talk amongst themselves while they clean. As Pan dries each dish another elf takes it from him and scurries to put it away. Quick, neat, efficient. I feel horribly clumsy here.

Pan chats to a girl elf, Cellie. They're comparing stories of the biggest mistakes they ever made, and what they did to punish themselves. The best Pan has invented so far was spilling pumpkin juice on a student's dress robes, which resulted in him slamming his foot in a door. Cellie's best is knocking over a suit of armour that fell down eight flights of stairs and _almost_ hurt Mrs Norris, whoever she is. Cellie's punishment was sprinkling ground pepper in her own eyes.

I cannot wait until after lunch. The elves are nice enough but this 'idle chatter' is worrying me a little.

~~~~~

We're on the Quidditch field. I have decided this is my favourite place in the world.

Dobby tells me of how he hexed a Bludger to follow a boy throughout the game, so the boy would be hurt and then leave Hogwarts. But it didn't work. When Dobby begins to explain how he had to iron his hands afterwards I ask him to instead explain how Quidditch is played.

You're still here shadow? Oh good.

I look up at the stands around this huge field, imagining what Dobby describes. Six figures fly with a single intent, following the red leather ball. Four more bearing clubs, somehow controlling their brooms while swinging at the two leather cannonballs that threaten every player. Two keepers, guarding their hoops.

And two last players, one in red, one in green. High above the world they wait and watch. One of them is my brother. He glares at the other, hating everything about him from his glasses to his scar. Then there is movement, a golden sparkle, and both of them turn and fly with the wind in their hair, both reaching for the Snitch.

I breathe deeply, tasting the freshness and the green in the air. And for one of the first times in my life I wish that I could be like everyone else. I want to be here when school begins in another week, I want to be on my feet in the stands, cheering for my brother as he grabs that tiny golden sparkle from the air, I want to be surrounded by girls and boys of my own age and kind.

Actually, what I really want is to fly.

~~~~~

These chapters are very short, but hopefully that means they'll come sooner. Someone asked about Leila's mother - I have to say that she doesn't come into the picture as much as her father does. But Narcissa didn't want to give up her daughter.


	4. Potions

****

Potions

~~~~~

I've been relocated. It seems that one washing-up session is enough for the elves to know I'm not really suited for kitchen duty. So now I'm to work with a different group of elves in the school's laundry. This also means that there is very little for us to do until the students return.

Idleness isn't much fun; house elves enjoy relating self-punishment stories to each other, although I cannot imagine why. So after making some excuse to them I stand up, make sure my shadow is with me, and I leave.

Where shall we go, my shadow? Not to Dumbledore, perhaps to Hagrid's? He may need help in his garden. But why should I go anywhere in particular at all?

I walk slowly, just enjoying the castle. The suits of armour occasionally creak into movement, raising an arm and waving. The paintings smile pleasantly and then go back to talking to each other. This place is wonderful. And I'm free to roam through it.

I cannot begin to tell you how purely amazing that is. Everything here is friendly and welcoming, even if I will remain a secret. Like the elves I must never be noticed, never be seen. But for a few days I have the luxury of walking in the open without caring.

I bear scars still. But you can't see them.

A sound. Or was it just me? Did you hear something, shadow?

I turn. Only a teacher. Professor . . . Snape.

"Miss Malfoy."

Remember that I am a Malfoy. The sound of his voice will not make me shiver.

"Yes Professor?"

He is not hostile but neither is he welcoming. He's in the grey area this man, and I believe that is true in more ways than one.

With a sweeping gesture he asks me to follow him. Deeper we go, into the bowels of the castle, until I realise from the lack of windows that we are underground. Torches in racks hanging from the stone walls make our shadows flicker. I'm glad you're still with me.

The room he leads me to is a classroom. Rows of benches and long tables face a raised platform and the teacher's desk.

What am I doing in here?

"Take a seat Miss Malfoy."

I obey. Have the elves altered my mentality so quickly?

"You say you are a squib."

"Yes sir, I am."

"How do you know?"

"I can do nothing that needs magic."

"Here," he steps forward with something small and bright between his fingers. A pin. "Hold out your hand."

I don't move.

"Malfoy, as you know I'm the Potions master. Madam Pomfrey cannot do this for it is more than a simple blood test. Please hold out your hand," his voice is soft, but dangerous. Like cold black iron, that is twisted into beautiful scrolls and curves, but when one runs a finger along the edge it cuts. I raise a hand, he takes it.

At the contact of skin I cannot hold back a shiver. Magic. It's literally radiating from him.

Snape frowns and presses the metal into my thumb. A single drop of blood wells up. He pulls me to his desk where the blood drips into a shallow dish of clear liquid. He releases me, and I take a step back. There is silence as we both wait for the solution to react. I bite down hard on hope that I was wrong.

There is nothing. Nothing at all.

"It appears you are correct Miss Malfoy."

I nod. For Malfoys never cry.

~~~~~

Now she's really talking to herself. Who cares, I'm sure she can be allowed some trauma after what her father did to her.

And I didn't mean to include so much of Snape, but he was the only teacher who turned up.

Sorry this was so short.


	5. Welcome Back

****

Welcome Back

~~~~~

It's September second. School begins today.

Dobby and Pan are in the kitchens preparing for this evening's feast, and I am with Bib and a dozen other elves, making last minute arrangements to the student's dormitories.

This is Gryffindor tower. It's late afternoon, and within an hour the Hogwarts Express will pull into Hogsmeade with a load of wizarding teenagers. The Students.

We light the fire places, dust, make the beds with crisp fresh sheets, straighten the rugs and leave a hundred finishing touches before scurrying to the next dorm. Two for every year group, plus the common room of that certain house. The elves are working double time, _popping_ constantly from one space to the next, and it is all I can do to keep up with them. Keep close to me, my shadow; you don't want to be left behind.

We finish Gryffindor tower and leave for the Ravenclaw dorms. The elves _pop_ there but Bib walks with me so I don't get lost. The portrait doors open for me without a word; I have permission to go anywhere in the castle due to my position with the elves. So we hurry into the first year girl's dorm, and get on with our work.

~~~~~

The other elves in my unit deal with the students' luggage, and I have been sent to the kitchens to be kept out of their way. Dobby, Pan, and the others crowd around a large copper saucepan on the floor, listening intently. Voices come out of the pot, voices of the students enjoying their feast. I hear snatches of their conversations, discussing Quidditch teams, music, joking about their teachers. And it sounds like a foreign language to me.

The elves only tune in to certain words.

"Pass the salad will you?" Dozens of leathery ears prick up. "Oh, Sarah, did you have to finish that? I wanted some."

An elf squeaks and springs into action, laying her hands on a bowl of Caesar salad and _popping_ it away.

"No I didn't, there's some right there," we hear from the saucepan.

A house elf's greatest compliment is not to be noticed. Sarah's friend takes a serving from the new bowl and doesn't realise what has just happened. The elf responsible beams and the others look at her with admiration.

Why is it that other races do not appreciate such little things so much? Elves are so familiar to me but I still do not understand the wherefores of their actions.

~~~~~

Night.

Around me the castle is welcoming back the children it has missed. Laughter, whispers, chattering voices seep throughout the stone and trickle down the pipes. I lie here in my bed, trying not to hear them.

I want to hear my brother.

I miss my brother.

How can I miss someone I have never seen?

Curling on my side, wrapping my arms around the astounding softness of the pillow, I shut my eyes.

He's sleeping. In a huge bed with green curtains he sprawls, dreaming of simple things. Sky. Wind. Flying.

The impression is faint and brief, but the after image is burned into my mind's eye.

My twin.

I smile into the pillow. Sleep now, my shadow. It's all right.

~~~~~

Boys are so messy. After only one day his uniform is covered in grass and dirt stains, cobwebs, burn marks and odd coloured spots from spilled potions. I pick up a shirt from where its owner dropped it last night. The crest of the lion holds my gaze me with challenging eyes.

Quickly I shove it into my bag. And it disappears. Most elf magic seems to be involved with warping space, so whatever goes in this bag will suddenly be in the laundry.

After all the dirty clothes are away, I turn to making the beds. By the time the boys return here after their morning classes, everything will be clean and tidy and ready for them to mess up again.

The sheets are still warm. And they tingle with what I'm becoming accustomed to in this place - magic. Pure magic. Who slept here? I look at the trunk at the foot of the bed; the initials read HP.

Hmm. I should know that name.

But there is a task at hand here. I pull up the sheets, tuck them in, straighten the coverlet and shake out the pillows. But I stop as I feel something solid beneath the feather softness.

Hello, what's this? A stick? As long as from the crook of my elbow to the end of my fingers, a smooth stick of . . . holly. A wand.

I hold it in one hand, curling fingers around the handle. It's warm. The tingle is so sharp as to almost make me bleed. What was it my brother did in that dream of the duel? Slowly I raise the wand in front of my face, then with a swift motion I sweep it down and to the right. A sharp turn and -

I freeze.

There is a boy in the doorway.

House elf instinct says to run away, and slam my head against a wall for my misconduct. Fortunately the Malfoy in me wins, and I stay, holding my head up and my back straight.

The boy frowns at me, green eyes behind circular glasses, a mop of thick black hair and . . . a scar.

HP. This is his wand I hold.

This is the boy my brother hates, the figure in red who always catches that golden sparkle.

"Who are you?" he demands.

Silently I hold out his wand to him, handle first. Quickly he takes it, and holds it before him as if to curse me.

"Who are you?" he asks again. Warring sides of me tell me to answer obediently, or give a snide comment then leave.

"Leila," I say quietly, not daring to say more.

"What are you doing here?"

"Cleaning."

Confusion. "The house elves do that."

"I work with them."

He lowers his wand. Some of the tingle goes out of the air. How am I going to get out of this?

"Oh." He tucks the smooth holly into a loop in his belt, and makes to leave with some mumbled apology for interrupting me and an excuse about returning to class.

"Wait, sir?"

He looks back. "Harry. My name's Harry."

"Please don't tell anyone you saw me, uh, Harry," the house elf influence shows. "Professor Dumbledore would be upset. It's safest if no one knows about me."

The boy nods, not understanding but willing to comply for the sake of the headmaster.

"Okay. Um, bye then Leila."

He closes the door behind him. I sink to the floor and try to remember to breathe.

~~~~~

I don't usually thank reviewers but I have to this time. You've made me very happy. Thankyou.


	6. Class

****

Class

~~~~~

Dumbledore is one of the wisest people in the world. I know Father wouldn't share that opinion but I'm certain it's true. Somehow, although I never asked, the headmaster has made further arrangements for me.

Although I cannot learn magic I am still learning. Professor McGonagall, the Gryffindor head of house, is setting aside time every evening for my lessons. She is teaching me how to read, and how to write. Basic things every muggle should know. It's not easy.

So here we are again, the witch and the squib, side by side at a table in the staffroom, heads bent over a book. It's a wizard book, the illustrations move. As I finish each page it turns for me. Professor smiles indulgently at my expression.

"You learn quickly Leila."

I cannot get used to the easy way she uses my name. But she will not call me Malfoy as Snape does.

"Thankyou Professor."

"You are most unlike your brother."

I do not comment on that.

The other adults move quietly, talk quietly, discussing their students as if I can't hear them.

Mister Potter and Mister Malfoy have been fighting again. A week into the year and already they're both serving detention. I pause in my reading when I hear this.

Father will not be pleased with my twin, and that makes me worry for him.

McGonagall frowns at Snape, who changes the topic quickly.

~~~~~

Snape worries me. His voice, the way he stands so tense and still; everything about him sets me on edge. Yet I have been moved again, and I am assisting with the staff members instead of the elves. So today I am in his storeroom, measuring out powdered snake bone and counting mustard seeds, helping him prepare for his next class of fifth years, the Slytherins and the Gryffindors.

As my hands work automatically I can only think of one thing.

My twin.

Snape is at his desk as I move among the student's benches, arranging their ingredients for them. And the tingling magic seeps from the wood of the table beneath my fingers, drips from the stone wall and ceiling. I know that I can never be a part of this. But I still wish to be.

Footsteps. Professor jumps up, dropping the parchment he was writing. "Malfoy!" he hisses. "Get in the storeroom now!"

I obey, closing the door behind me. Thank heavens I had finished my preparation. But there is only one exit from this dungeon, and there are teenagers flocking through that exit right now.

There is nothing to do but wait in here. Before the noise settles down I pull an upturned crate near the door and sit so I can peer through a crack. My eyes scan over the classroom, searching. I can't see him! Where is the boy with the pale skin and platinum hair? With the eyes such a pale blue they appear silver? Where is the one who looks like me?

Everyone is seated, but wait, another pair of footsteps. Is this him?

"Malfoy, you're late."

"Sorry Professor, I got held up."

A smooth voice. He cannot hide the disdain so well as I do, that superiority that runs in our blood thicker than magic. The skill of pretence is not inherent in him as it is in me.

I watch with hungry eyes, waiting for my first glimpse -

There! Oh, my shadow, do you see? Do you see him?

My brother. My twin. He takes his quill and dips it in the ink, bending his head a little to take notes as Snape begins to explain the lesson. Slim, slight, and pale. A wraith, something ethereal.

Draco.

I remain hunched, my eye close to the crack in the door, watching. He talks, laughs coldly, sneers at the others around him. So beautiful, but such a fool. I can see the trouble he will cause himself with that sneer. I see the black haired boy, Harry, glaring at my brother from across the room. There is tension there; it thrums like a taut bowstring.

Snape's voice rings out again, and they finish off their potions, clean out their steaming cauldrons, scribble a few last notes then leave, filing out swifter than they filed in. My twin stalks, flanked by two huge boys on either side of him. He makes some comment to a girl standing near Harry, but she does not respond.

Then - gone. Snape pulls open my door and I get up quickly, swallowing the fear that I've done wrong. I've spent too much time with Dobby.

"Come on Malfoy," he steps back. "You're on a break now. It's lunch time."

Minimal words, toneless expression. I cannot place this man, every time I make up my mind something changes.

"Yes sir."

~~~~~

Sorry Merry, but her shadow's here to stay. :)


	7. Library

****

Library

~~~~~

I cannot help but worry about Father. He must come after me soon. Will he know to look here? It's not exactly an unknown place of refuge.

But life goes on. I continue my private lessons, I assist in the menial work for preparing classes, or work in the cleaner's unit. Besides Harry, no student even knows I exist.

At lunchtime the library is virtually deserted, only a few students huddle over dusty tomes in an effort to catch up on study. I remain hidden, creeping behind shelves and staying in the shadows. In the darkness.

The library doesn't have very large fiction section, and most of what is available is above my reading level. But Professor McGonagall has encouraged me to try some more difficult texts.

My fingers trail along the spines of these novels, muggle and wizard books side by side. Watership Down, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Quidditch through the Ages - hold on. I know enough to know this book is on the wrong shelf. I pick it up with the intent to move it, before noticing that is very thin. I check inside, the words look simple enough. And I do have an interest in Quidditch - although I know nothing about it.

I find a secluded corner where a shelf meets the wall at an acute angle, with enough light to read by but where I will not be seen. And I sit on the ground and open my book, flicking through for a page that looks interesting. I pause when I see pictures, illustrations of various moves in Quidditch. Some words I do not understand, and I have to sound them out.

"W-ron-ski Feint," I whisper.

"Wonky Faint," a voice smiles near me. I jerk. No one is meant to know I'm here! Twisting my head around, I look for the girl who spoke. I am still mostly in shadow, I think she can see no more than my right arm and leg. I intend to keep things that way.

"My friends are obsessed with Quidditch," the girl moves closer, I can see her now. I shrink back. She looks concerned. Thick brown hair flows down her back, she carries several leather bound volumes in her arms. "Are you alright?" she asks, her voice soft and fine.

I stay silent. She has me trapped. Hopefully she will mistake my black robes for school robes. Then again, they _are_ school robes, second hand ones McGonagall found for me.

"Why are you hiding? I can't see you."

Twice now. I've been caught twice now. Why can't I be like Dobby and just disappear when I need to?

She puts down the books and reaches for me.

Oh no.

If I struggle and make a scene then even more people will see me. With a silent curse, I give up, bowing my head as her hands take my shoulders and pull me out of the shadows.

"Malfoy!" she spits the name with venom and jumps back as if I burned her. I know I must look like my twin, with my hair pulled back to the nape of my neck, and my face hidden.

"What the hell are you doing here?" the girl, on her knees, moves away from me.

"I _was_ reading."

She pauses. My voice is too high. I look up at her. Her brown eyes widen.

"Who are you?"

I have the feeling I will often be asked that question.

"Leila."

"Leila who?"

"Leila Malfoy."

"But Draco doesn't have a sister - "

"I was under the impression he did."

She glares. "I think your manners are enough evidence. I believe you."

"I'm sorry," I look at the floor again. The Malfoy in me rebels. I think I'm part elf.

"What?"

"I'm sorry I was rude." Years of knowing I am below everyone have twisted my values. The Malfoy disdain runs thick, but I swallow it.

"It's okay," the girl sounds confused. I confuse myself sometimes. "Um," she tries to back pedal. "What are you reading?"

"Quidditch through the Ages," it took me two minutes to wade through that title. Now it rolls off my tongue like I've been reading for years.

"Oh," she waves a hand at her books. "I'm catching up on potions homework. Uses for snake bone."

I eye the pile doubtfully. "There are that many uses for snake bone?"

She smiles. "You're not much like your brother. Not really."

I frown. "You hardly know me."

"I knew him five minutes before I'd made up my mind he was bad news." I frown. I know my twin is a fool who has little self control but that's not really his fault.

"I have to go." For some reason it's satisfying to see the girl scramble while I rise smoothly to my feet. "You probably won't see me again."

"Why not? What house are you in?"

"I'm not in any house. I'm a squib. Goodbye."

And that's it.

I never even asked her name.

~~~~~

I hate making these chapters so short. But it's easier to have one major event at a time, I think.

In case you're clueless that was Hermione in the library. :)


	8. Quidditch

****

Quidditch

~~~~~

He creeps up on me in my room. When I feel a hand on my knee I spin, my black robe tangled and half hanging off my shoulders.

"Dobby! What are you doing?"

"Dobby can help Miss Leila. If Miss Leila wants help from Dobby."

"Help to do what?"

If I didn't know house elves better, I'd call that expression on his face 'sly'.

"Help to see Mister Malfoy play Quidditch, Miss Leila."

Heavens. He _is_ being sly.

"You can get me to the match today?"

"Yes Miss Leila."

"How?"

"Miss Leila can hide inside the stands, and peek through the banners."

"But Dobby, shouldn't I just ask Professor Dumbledore? He might let me - "

The elf shakes his head, ears flapping.

"If Master Dumbledore says Miss Leila cannot watch the game, then Dobby cannot help her watch the game."

"I see, you can't disobey your master."

At the very mention of disobedience he begins to wring at one ear.

"Stop that!"

"Dobby is sorry Miss Leila."

"It's alright." I fasten my robe at the collar and sit down on the bed to put on my shoes. They are second hand, but these ones fit, and are plain black leather boots, not white canvas sneakers. My jeans are a little too long, and the white shirt needs to have the sleeves turned back. I will grow into these clothes soon enough.

"How can you get me on the pitch without being seen?"

"Mister Potter does not own the only invisibility cloak in Hogwarts School."

"Who is Mister Potter?"

"The great Harry Potter, Miss Leila. He is the Gryffindor Seeker as Mister Malfoy is the Slytherin Seeker."

Ah. HP. The penny drops.

~~~~~

Elfish habits are making me nervous. But since when did breaking rules ever bother a Malfoy?

I'm in the Slytherin stands, about halfway up. It's dark in here; the cobwebs and shadows make me feel almost at home. But it's windy, with cool breezes sliding through the cloth banners that surround the wooden framework that in turn supports the stands above me.

A roar. Hundreds of voices cheer as one.

I straddle a horizontal beam near the edge of the frame, inching forward I stretch out along it, reaching an arm to part two green banners enough to peek through. I seem to do this a lot don't I shadow?

Far below me the players are marching out onto the pitch. A witch in unprejudiced white is standing near a dark box. I hear a boy's voice call out the names of each side, but only two of them register.

" . . . Draco Malfoy! And as Gryffindor seeker, everybody's favourite Harry Potter!"

A whistle blows. As if with one mind, the fourteen green and red figures rise from the ground. My brother and his enemy fly highest, circling the pitch as the chasers begin to toss the Quaffle back and forth. It's amazing. That boy sings the commentary; an uneven rhythm of names. A blur of green flies toward the red hoops and throws, but the ball is caught and thrown back into the waiting grasp of a red chaser. The beaters work as if playing a different game, ignoring all things but the two brown balls zooming about at random.

But my eyes are on my brother. He's beautiful. Not in a feminine sense, but in a way that is just . . . his. He flies very well. Unfortunately his focus is on the wrong goal. He should be watching for the snitch, not mocking the other boy. If only . . . if only he were more like me. If I had the power to fly, I would have the drive to win the game. I would have the determination to best Potter on his own grounds. I would catch that golden sparkle.

I scan over the field. Gryffindor has scored the first goal, the crowd thunders louder. But above me all I hear are boos and hisses. Of course. I am hiding in a Slytherin stand after all.

Why is it that they play dirty? Why do they have to cheat to get what they want? Don't they know that true ambition means that they must strive to be better than the best?

Cheating doesn't work. Because all it does is provide shaky foundations which are so, so easy to break.

My brother doesn't understand that. To really destroy your enemy you have to do so on his terms. That way he knows that you are truly better than he is, and that there's nothing he can do about it.

The game goes on. After 'accidentally' ramming into a Gryffindor chaser, a Slytherin scores. I bite my lip to stop a sound. Stupid. They're so stupid. If only I could fly . . .

I look back up to my brother, who is laughing in triumph. Fool. Focus on the game curse you!

Harry is circling again, the wind riffling through his black hair, sunlight glinting on the warm shine of his broom. He plays well. He would be a worthy adversary, or an excellent friend. Everybody's favourite Harry Potter. I don't understand why my brother hates him.

I pull back from the banners as someone flies close to where I'm hiding. For a second I pause in the dark, hoping they didn't notice my eye.

Nothing. The crowd continues to cheer and the commentary goes on.

BAM!

A bludger slams through the beam above me, ripping fabric. I almost fall as it slows, then zooms back the way it came. The breeze of it's passing moves my hair. It must have been following that chaser who went by before. I hug the wood tightly, then force myself to move. The cannonball left a hole in the banners, I could be seen.

But wait. I don't need to move. I'm wearing that cloak Dobby found aren't I? I'm safe, so long as I keep it over me.

I part the curtain again and go back to my watching.

"Gryffindor leads by fifty points, but Slytherin still have time . . . "

My brother looks worried. Keep calm, I try to tell him. Just focus.

But then Harry dives.

"Gryffindor Seeker's spotted the snitch!" 

I almost laugh; I can see he's faking. But my twin follows anyway.

No, don't! That's a Wronski Feint!

Harry pulls out of his headlong dive easily before soaring up again. But my brother isn't so quick. The cloak of his Quidditch robes brushes the grass as he swoops, the back of his broom skidding like the rear wheel of Hagrid's motorbike as he turns hard then shoots skyward. He's furious for being fooled.

I warned you. I did warn you Draco.

His eyes are fixed on Harry, his platinum hair swept back by the wind. What does he think he's . . . ? Oh no. My fool brother is going to try ram Harry Potter head on.

The commentator realises this and yells something unrepeatable. The umpire witch leaps on her broom and makes for my twin.

But she doesn't need to.

A red haired, red clad beater has slammed his club into a bludger. Draco's going to be hit.

I don't want to watch. But I can't help myself.

I hear it. I feel it. I double over as I feel his ribs crack, I gasp as the air is expelled from his lungs.

And there, so close to him, the snitch flutters, desperate for attention.

Grab it brother! It's right in front of you!

His arms are wrapped around the struggling cannonball, his head lolls. That perfect hair falls in his eyes. Harry is flying toward him, the umpire urges her second rate broom to go faster.

I struggle to stay upright, holding onto the beam with my legs as I hug the pain within myself.

Why can't you see it Draco? Just look!

I shake my hair out of my eyes and catch a breath.

He raises his head, groggy.

I lift my arm.

One hand raises as if to fend off the opposing seeker's approach, but then -

I grab a handful of air. All eyes are on my twin.

Yes! His gloved fingers snatch the golden sparkle from right in front of his nose.

Then he topples.

And I fall.

I'm gone. I can't see; I can only feel.

Ah! Arms!

I grab, catch myself against wood. Safe, I won't fall.

Where's my brother? I look for him through the curtain of green.

Harry Potter has caught my twin. Luck, it seems, is not without a sense of irony.

The umpire flies alongside them as they coast to the ground. Landing, Harry kneels and gently places my brother on the grass. Someone takes the bludger away; the game is over now.

Quickly I climb down out of the stands. My invisibility cloak is still wrapped tight around me, and I hurry to my brother's side.

No one has noticed what he holds in his fist. Harry is doesn't look up as I kneel opposite him. I reach out my hand and I lay it over my brother's. He stirs. I uncurl Draco's fingers, and Harry gasps as he sees a flash of silver wings.

"Well, well Malfoy," he smiles. "You won."

My twin opens his eyes a crack.

"I did what?"

I pull back my hand.

"You caught the snitch Malfoy."

There is the sneer; there is my brother.

"Well don't sound so surprised Potter."

I get to my feet, intending to quietly slip away, but my foot catches on something. A fold of the cloak. And as I stand it falls from my shoulders, pooling on the ground. Harry stares up at me. Draco swears.

"What in the name of Merlin?!?"

Damn. Just, damn.

Here I stand in the middle of the Quidditch pitch, with the whole school staring at me, utterly speechless at this girl appearing out of nowhere.

I put all my energy into wishing I were a house elf.

It doesn't work.

~~~~~

Woohoo! CLIFFHANGER! Don't worry, it'll be over by tomorrow. I just couldn't resist stopping here, even though this is exactly what I hate to read.

And every Harry Potter fic needs a Quidditch match right? :)

There's also a blatant rip off of a line from The Matrix. See if you can find it.


	9. Consequence

****

Consequence

~~~~~

Albus Dumbledore does not get angry quickly. But when he does . . .

I will just say such is a fate I would wish only upon my father.

I'm standing here in his office, head bowed. I think I'd prefer to be back in my cellar.

"What do you have to say for yourself Miss Malfoy?"

Malfoy? He doesn't call me that.

"I'm sorry sir. It was stupid of me."

"You've jeopardised your own safety you understand."

"Yes sir."

He sits back in his chair.

"I must admit I'm rather at a loss for what to do to you now."

"Pardon sir?" I dare to look up.

"Any ordinary student I would put on several month's detention, but the work you do with the elves equates that already. So I don't know how to punish you."

"You could forbid me from reading sir." Bloody stupid house elf instincts!

"But you must continue with your studies."

"Then I don't know sir."

"Hmm," he starts playing with his beard. He's not so furious now, but still obviously not happy with me. "You will still stay here. Although I cannot guarantee that Lucius will not hear of your presence; some children are bound to have written home already of a pale blond girl popping out of the ground of the Quidditch pitch."

Was that a joke? I cannot tell.

"Rumours abound already, you know."

"Rumours sir?"

"Yes," he's almost smiling now. Does his anger cool so quickly? "The Slytherins believe you are a Veela that Mister Potter conjured specifically to distract Mister Malfoy. Another of their theories is that you were hexing Mister Malfoy throughout the game and did not reveal yourself until the fulfilment of your evil scheme."

"But, but they _won_, sir."

"Yes. However, their seeker sustained several broken ribs and extensive bruising."

I don't want to ask, but I have to know; "What do the other houses believe sir?"

"Much the same. Only in their minds Mister Potter was your intended victim."

"Oh. I see."

"Rather bloodthirsty aren't they?"

"Yes sir." I don't like that glint in his eyes.

"It would be horrible to be subjected to them wouldn't it?"

Oh dear. Why is he smiling at me that way?

"Rather like being thrown in a pit full of hungry lions."

Oh _dear_.

"I believe I have an idea for your punishment Miss Malfoy."

Oh bloody hell.

~~~~~

My brother stares at me. I can do nothing but stare back. Side by side before the headmaster's desk, we listen to the old wizard's voice and take in the sight of each other.

"I don't believe you," Draco says at length. "Father wouldn't do that."

"Wouldn't he?" I ask quietly. We even sound like each other. "I know he's done worse to you, and more frequently."

"You're bluffing," but he's paled, remembering the pain.

"I've heard you scream brother. I know what he's done to you."

Dumbledore wisely doesn't say a word. This is between us now.

"A Malfoy couldn't be a squib," he tries another angle. "There's never been a squib in our line."

"Maybe they were all hidden away like I was. Maybe they were all killed at birth."

He shakes his head.

How can I make him believe me?

Twins share a bond, some people say. If I can feel his pain, can he feel mine?

Without hesitation I turn around and slam my fist into the cold stone wall.

Behind me I hear him cry out. I turn back.

My brother bends over, cradling his right hand in his left, staring at me in disbelief.

"What the hell did you just do?"

I swallow. To me this pain is nothing, a pinprick compared to having my soul shredded with that spell. But he does not have the strength I do. Even though it's distant, the hurt in his hand brings tears to his eyes.

Dumbledore raises his wand and murmurs something. The bones of my hand mend back together, my skin heals and the blood disappears, and slowly my brother stands up straight.

"You didn't realise this bond earlier because Father only used the curse on me once," I feel the headmaster's stare but continue. "I felt it every time he cursed you. Again, and again. We're twins Draco. If you believe or if you doubt, it's still true."

He breathes heavily, a strand of that silky hair falling in his eyes. I hate it that I can't get closer. This is my other half, and I've never even felt the warmth of his skin.

"Alright," he barely whispers. "I believe you Leila."

Oh, my brother. I hold out my hand to him, and he clasps it briefly.

And it feels like coming home.

~~~~~

I'm wishing I were a house elf again. It's still not working.

I'm standing next to Dumbledore, dressed in my second hand clothes and holding a mouldy smelling wizard's hat.

Draco avoids my eye as the old wizard explains to the school that I am in fact Mister Malfoy's twin sister who has only recently come to the country. Apparently I've been living in Australia. I am a squib and as such will not participate in practical classes, but I am to be treated with the same respect as any student of Hogwarts. And like any other student I am to be sorted.

I sit down on a small stool in front of the staff table. A thousand magic filled eyes look at me like I'm some rare animal. I suppose I am, in a way.

Dumbledore places the mouldy hat on my head. And I hear a voice in my ear.

__

"Oh hello. Another Malfoy. But there's something wrong here - "

Make fun of me being a squib and I swear you'll wish you'd never been knitted.

__

"My, my. Feisty little critter aren't you. Well, I suppose you'll be heading for Slyther - "

But I don't like them.

__

"So?"

They're all stupid.

__

"You don't fit anywhere else my girl. You've got that ambitious streak. Even though you won't be quite so unscrupulous in getting what you want, you'll get it all the same. I stand by my first choice - SLYTHERIN!_"_

The last word is yelled to the hall at large. Dumbledore removes the hat, and I stand. I hear polite clapping from three tables, but no one in my new house seems to want to accept the squib.

Typical.

I walk slowly toward them and slide onto the end of the bench. When the boy next to me shuffles pointedly away I just stare straight ahead and remind myself I'm a Malfoy. I can break the bones in my own hand and not make a sound. This rejection will not affect me.

~~~~~

I really hope I'm not staggering blindly into Mary-Sue Land with this. If I am pull me back and I'll rewrite this chapter.

I only sorted her for convenience, and she's staying in her own room. My original promise of no original-character/known-character pairing still stands. And for some reason Leila insists on working with the elves. Don't ask me why.


	10. School

****

School

~~~~~

Mercifully I am allowed to stay in my own room.

Rising early on my first day of school I dress alone in my new-old school shirt, tie, jeans, boots and Slytherin robe. An incomplete uniform, but the best McGonagall could find.

Snape is my head of house, not McGonagall. Joy.

The elves were here last night. For a moment I find it strange that they did not talk to me, but then I recall that I am a student now. Does this mean I will not see them again?

I gather the sheaf of parchments, the quills, the jar of ink, and my books. My timetable lies atop the pile.

I looks at it blankly, trying to make sense of the columns and words. Today is . . . Monday. I have div - divinat - divination! first lesson. Putting my things in a plain green satchel, I sigh. How can I make it through a day of fifth year schooling with not even a first year reading level?

Curses. I'm already late for breakfast. Come along shadow, we know some hidden elf-routes don't we?

~~~~~

Draco is not in my class. I seem to remember that he doesn't learn Divination, but it doesn't make me feel any better. The other Slytherins won't even admit that I'm here, and I don't suppose I can hope for any better from the Gryffindors. I move to the back of the classroom, and sit at a small desk in the corner.

The girl with the thick brown hair is not with Harry, instead a boy with red hair sits next to him. He's glaring at me. I look back at him flatly across the stuffy room, as if I'm counting every one of his freckles. He fidgets and turns his back.

A wafting scent of thick incense distracts me. "Ahh, a new student," whispers a voice close behind me.

I turn quickly. A tall woman peers down at me through thick glasses, frowning. Professor Trelawney.

"Dear me, child," she raises thin fingers to her throat. "I see darkness surrounding you, much darkness. Like a cloud, like - "

"Like a shadow?" I ask. Her eyes widen.

"Yes, very much like a shadow. Do you see it yourself child?"

"It's hardly surprising I'm in shadow, seeing as you are blocking the light from the window."

The class titters, even some of the Slytherins. I catch Harry grinning. The teacher frowns, moving away from me.

As she begins to talk to the class about scrying in mirrors, I open one of my books. I have been given my own work to get through. I manage to read a few pages about different scrying methods, only half listening to Professor Trelawney.

Why did I choose this subject shadow? It's useless. Not even all wizards can preform this 'magic'. And I feel no tingle in this room.

~~~~~

On the way out, Harry comes up to me. "Don't worry about what she says," he smiles, "she predicts my death almost every lesson."

I smile back. "I'm not worried Harry. That wasn't magic in there."

The red haired boy looks confused a moment. Harry introduces us; "This is my friend Ron."

"Hello Ron."

"Malfoy." Ron doesn't smile.

Harry looks annoyed for a moment, but I excuse myself quickly, and leave for my next class.

~~~~~

Later in the day I hurry into Transfiguration. I have arrived early, purely by accident. The hidden corridor I took somehow made the trip shorter than I had expected.

McGonagall is already in the room, drawing diagrams on the blackboard.

"Professor."

"Ah, Leila," she turns around with a smile. "I saw you sitting alone at lunch. How have your housemates been to you?"

I walk up the aisle and put down my bag at a desk near her. "They haven't been particularly friendly, but they're not bad."

"Your brother is in this class. Have you spoken to him much?"

"Not at all today," I shrug. Since when have I become so like other teenagers?

There is a hint of a frown in her eyes. "I hoped he would help you out a little. A least show you around the school."

I don't reply. My brother cannot afford to lose face by consorting with the Squib where other Slytherins can see. He's lost enough simply because I am his sister.

"Today we'll be discussing some dangers of Transfiguration, we won't be doing much practical work. I hope you will participate in the discussion," her expression does not allow me the option of refusing.

"Yes Professor."

"And don't you dare hide at the back of the room. Professor Snape wasn't happy about your seating preferences last lesson."

Before lunch I'd had double Potions. Trying to avoid showing allegiance to either my brother or Harry, I'd sat at the rear of the dungeon. I hid so well Snape did not realise I was there until I asked a question toward the end of the class.

"Yes Professor."

She smiles and returns to the blackboard. I sit down, taking out my things. As she illustrates the correct wand grip for a certain spell, McGonagall says, "You will have noticed you have a free period next, correct?"

"Yes," I glance at my timetable to confirm. "Does everyone have a free lesson?"

"No, you are to spend that time with Madam Hooch."

"Madam Hooch, Professor?"

"The flying instructor."

I stop breathing for a moment, then calmly resume sharpening a pencil. "Why should I spend a lesson with her?"

"You are a squib Leila, but you're not a muggle. You can still fly a broomstick if you choose."

I stare at her, at the dark hair twisted into a bun at the back of her neck. She turns.

"That's if you wish to. Professor Dumbledore was under the impression you had an interest in Quidditch."

"Uh. Yes. That is, I would like to learn how to fly. I just didn't think I could."

Footsteps. A boy enters the room, followed by a group of chattering students. I look down at my blank parchment, and McGonagall puts away her chalk.

Somebody dumps his or her satchel on the desk next to me. Another Slytherin. I glance at the silver initials printed on the black quill box. DLM.

I look up at my brother. He quirks an eyebrow, as if challenging me to react. I smile, and look back to the front. McGonagall is watching us, an unreadable expression in her eyes. But she seems satisfied that Draco has sat here. I wonder at how we must look, two blonde heads side by side, two faces so similar (his with more angles than mine) and two pairs of eyes that are perfectly identical. Twins.

Draco sets his wand neatly atop his textbook. I brandish my quill, ready to take notes. I hope he doesn't notice my handwriting or spelling, or lack thereof.

"Can anybody tell me," McGonagall begins, "if it is possible to transfigure oneself?"

There is a pause. Students glance at each other. Draco nods, almost to himself. McGonagall sees him.

"Mister Malfoy, as you believe it _is_ possible, why then is it never done?"

He doesn't answer.

"Can anyone else tell me?"

I know the answer. It's one of those answers that are painfully obvious but no one wants to say, because it seems too obvious to be correct. But I know I'm right.

The professor's eyes rest on me a moment. I raise my hand to the level of my shoulder.

"Miss Malfoy."

"Because if you transfigured yourself you may not be able to transfigure yourself back again."

"Exactly."

My brother gives me a look that says 'Teacher's pet', but he's got a little smile of chagrin lurking around his mouth.

"However, there are ways of getting out of such a situation. They are difficult and must be preformed without a wand, just in case you've been turned into an object without hands. Once we've gone through them, I'll be turning each of you into cats, and you'll have to try transfigure yourselves back to normal . . . "

As McGonagall began to list spells on the board, I copy them down. Draco bends his head and follows suit.

"Brown noser," he whispers with a grin.

"Envy is a deadly sin Draco," I murmur back. And I try hard not to laugh out loud at the wonderful feeling I have right now.

~~~~~

Madam Hooch is short and wiry with spiky grey hair. I recognise her as the Quidditch umpire. We're standing on a flat space of lawn between the lawn and Hagrid's hut, with a broom lying on the ground beside me.

"Alright Malfoy, you're right handed?"

I nod, nervous.

"Stand here, hold out your arm out over the broom," she moves me into the correct position. "Open your hand, good, now say 'up'."

"Up."

Wood slams into my palm. The rush of magic almost burns me. I stare.

"How - ?"

The witch smiles a little. "You still have wizarding blood, although you lack all magical power of your own. A muggle couldn't make a broom do that, but you can."

"Oh."

"Now, swing your right leg over the broom," I do so. "Hold your hands near the end, that's it," she adjusts my grip, and steps back. "When I say, I want you to kick off. You crouch a little then spring, but at the same time you'll have to tilt the broom up with your hands. When you want to come down you tilt the front end down. Alright? Okay then; Now."

I jump. And keep going. Suddenly I'm ten feet off the ground, sitting on a battered old broomstick. My legs dangle uselessly.

"What do I do with my feet?" I ask, looking down.

"Fold them under the broom, crossed at the ankle. Go a little higher if you want."

This should be uncomfortable, but I feel like I'm sitting on a cushion placed where the twigs are tied to the stick. I fold my feet under me and tilt the broom up. For a second I close my eyes.

And I'm flying. Not very fast, not very well, but I'm flying.

This is one of the best days of my life.

~~~~~

I've worked out an odd sort of reasoning for the flying thing. Argus Filch is a squib, but he isn't vulnerable to things that affect muggles, remember all the anti-muggle charms on Hogwart's castle? He's a squib but he can see the castle, not a ruin like a muggle would see.

So, Leila's the same. She doesn't have magic in her, but she's still wizard-born. I guess that's enough for a broom to respond to. I think the magic of flying is in the broom, not the wizard.


	11. Slytherins

****

Slytherins

~~~~~

"Hey, squib!"

I turn. Two Slytherin girls, both older than I am, stand in the doorway of the broom shed.

"Yes?" I know why they're here. And I know that I can't take both of them. Not at once.

"We want a word with you."

"You've already had eight words. You'll have to ask again if you want any more." Why do I make things harder for myself?

The taller one moves closer, unfolding her arms and holding them loosely at her sides. She glares down at me. Her friend stays near the door. If she is only a lookout, I might find a way out of this.

I still hold my borrowed broom. Carefully I shift it so I'm holding it horizontally in both hands.

"You shouldn't be in Slytherin."

"Why not?"

"The Slytherin house don't take mudbloods, or squibs. You shouldn't even be at this school."

"But I am here. And I'm not about to leave." I weigh the situation up. The girl is taller. Hopefully I'm faster.

She moves, throwing a punch at my face. I duck and thrust the broom handle into the space under her ribs. Yes, I'm faster.

The friend moves in. Oh dear. I need help.

Then I'm thrown against the wall, cracking my head, and my broom clatters to the ground. Her fist knocks my head sideways, I reel, and all I can think of is Draco. The first girl comes up to me with my broom, she lifts it high then swings it down hard. I move but it catches my shoulder, and suddenly I can't feel my arm at all. I lurch away from the wall, trying to get past them, but their hands grab my shirt and haul me back.

I can't handle this. Not both of them.

There is a ripping sound in the air and the two girls are thrown back away from me. I look to the doorway, expecting a Professor, expecting Hagrid, expecting -

Anything but house elves.

Dobby and Bib grin at me. "Miss Leila."

Saved by house elves. I could laugh, if my lip weren't bleeding so much. The Slytherins are sprawled on their backs, seemingly unconscious. I breathe in, tasting copper in my mouth.

"Thankyou," I manage to say.

The elves come closer, trying to support me even though they only reach my waist. And slowly they help me back to my room.

~~~~~

Someone knocks. With a quiet _pop_, Dobby and Bib leave. I slide off my bed and open the door. Leaning against the wall, black school cloak slung around him, is Draco.

"How did you find my room?"

"I asked Snape."

"Oh."

"You missed dinner."

"I ate in here."

There is a pause.

"This is the part when you invite me in."

"Oh. Of course," I step back. He slinks when he walks, a controlled smoothness that comes naturally. He looks around the room, noting the four poster bed, desk, cupboard, bookshelf, and adjacent bathroom.

"Nice place. How come you're not in the dorm with us?"

"Perhaps it was feared I would be turned into a newt whilst asleep."

"No, that's not really Pansy's style. She'd make you a worm and feed you to Longbottom's toad."

I stare at him. He smiles. It's an intriguing expression. The corners of his mouth curve, his top lip curls away from his teeth, and his eyes glow for a second. He's really quite amazing.

"So," he breaks the silence, wandering over to my desk. "How was your first day?"

"Alright."

He picks up a parchment, and I hold my breath. Don't mock me brother. I couldn't take it from you.

"You actually plan on doing this History homework?"

"Why not?"

"The old ghost won't know if you do, he's never marked homework in his life. Or death. Assignments and tests yes, but not homework."

"I'll do it anyway. Or how will I know the work when it's time for a test?"

"You cram, silly." He looks back at my notes. "That's not how you spell battlefield. It's 'i-e', not 'e-i'."

"Oh."

He looks up from the parchment with another smile. But this one is gentler, and a little sad.

"You can be excused a few spelling mistakes, I think. All things considered."

I don't answer. I don't trust my voice.

"You got in a fight today."

"Pardon?"

"In the last lesson. I felt it. What happened?"

"Nothing," I turn my back, tidying a few things that do not really need to be put away.

"Leila."

I freeze.

"Who was it? Potter?"

"I don't know who they were. Two Slytherin girls, sixth years I think."

"Why?" he speaks very quietly.

"Because they could."

A pain in my hands. I turn. He's clenching his fists.

"Draco. There's nothing you can do about it."

"But there must be something, some way I can make them - "

I cross the room, reaching to take both his hands in mine. "No. Leave it. If it happens again the teachers will know - "

"Slytherins don't go running to Dumbledore for help." But he doesn't pull away his hands. They feel warm in mine. Our fingers knot together.

"You can't fix this. I know Dumbledore can't fix it either. But if the teachers know then that's some help, and it will hold them off until I work something out. This is my fight brother. Not yours. And I'll fight it my way."

He stares at me. His hair is a little mussed, when he bows his head some falls into his eyes.

"You're not much of a Slytherin."

"You're not much of a Malfoy."

He looks up. Is it just the candlelight that makes his eyes glisten as if they are wet?

I let go his hands and pull him into a hug. Awkwardly he wraps his arms around my back. We are the same height. My head is on his shoulder, and his is on mine. My brother. My twin. The closest thing to a family I have ever had.

"I wish you weren't a squib," he whispers into my hair.

"Tough. I am."

He laughs softly. "I'm glad you're my sister."

I hug him tighter and don't reply.

~~~~~

Oh dear. That doesn't sound the faintest bit like Draco. But who cares?


	12. Trouble?

****

Trouble?

~~~~~

I don't quite understand why my brother doesn't like Hagrid. He's goodwill incarnate.

Care of Magical Creatures promises to be a very interesting subject. Today Hagrid has found a relatively harmless but rare creature to study; the quinkin.

We stand in a circle around a large wooden crate, peering in. The quinkins are small, with dark brown fur and short tails. One raises its head, swivels its ears and peers back at us with pale eyes. Nostrils flare, it stands up on its hind legs to see us better. Some of the students make cooing noises.

"There are different types o' quinkin," Hagrid explains. "Some o' them are friendly, but others are nasty and like playin tricks on people."

"Where are they from?" someone asks.

"Australia."

I hope nobody remembers that I'm supposed to know all about Australia.

"Are they nice or nasty ones?"

"Nice ones, dun' worry."

"Why are we learning about _foreign_ creatures?" a Slytherin girl asks with a pointed glance at me. Pansy Parkinson, Draco warned me about her.

Hagrid sees her look, but doesn't seem to understand it.

"It's in the curriculum, 'at's why."

I try not to smile. Pansy huffs.

~~~~~

Lunchtime isn't much fun. The Slytherins ignore me because I'm a squib, and the rest of the school ignores me because I'm a Slytherin. I decide to avoid the hall and go visit Dobby in the kitchens.

Walking down the stairs to the lower floors, I move quickly. I don't want to be caught alone again. To think that the last time I was here I walked carefree and happy.

"Malfoy!"

I turn, wondering if anything in my bag would count as a weapon. Perhaps the Book of Dangerous Reptiles - that's not venomous but it can suffocate with a strong grip on a person's throat.

But it's a Gryffindor, and she's alone. It's the girl I met in the library.

"Leila. Hi."

"Hello."

She tries a smile, "My name's Hermione Granger. Harry said he saw you come down here."

"I'm on my way to the kitchens."

"Why?"

"To visit Dobby."

She looks at me closely. "A Malfoy voluntarily going to talk to house elves?"

"You don't believe me?"

"It just doesn't seem very Malfoy-ish."

"What do you know about my family, Granger?" I step away from her, turning my back.

"Wait, I'm sorry."

"Really?" I throw it over my shoulder as I continue on. "Or are you just saying that?"

"I mean it." She does sound sincere. I turn around again. There is a distance between us now.

"What do you want?"

A shrug, "To be your friend? I don't know. Harry thinks you're okay."

"Potter would think a snake okay as long as he didn't know it was poisonous." I've got reptiles on my mind.

"What's that meant to mean?"

I tilt my head, "Whatever you want it to."

She frowns. I didn't mean to make an enemy of her.

"What was I thinking?" she asks herself out loud. "You bloody Malfoys are all the same."

She turns on her heel.

I sigh, "I'm sorry Hermione," and continue on my way. Behind me I think I hear her pause, but I don't look back.

~~~~~

My daily flying lesson. I've lasted through feeding slugs to quinkins, burying my arms up to the elbows in compost, and two hours of reading about bunyips while my Defence against the Dark Arts class learnt spells to repel and combat them. Not to mention the encounter with Granger, which turned out to be the worst part of my day, so far.

It's all been for this moment.

"Come along Malfoy. You'll learn turning today."

I'm in the middle of the Quidditch pitch again, alone except for Madam Hooch. My hair is tied back, and my cloak is neatly folded with my books. The short witch hops onto her broom and kicks off, beginning to circle above me.

"Mount up Malfoy."

We fly higher than yesterday, level with the top of the stands.

"When you turn, lean to the side. You'll have to sit lower on your broom, if you sit up so straight you'll fall."

Right. She could have told me that on the ground. I cross my ankles under me and lean closer to the wood. The broom tilts up a little, and the change of angle causes me to move faster. Not wanting to go too high, I lean right and circle back down again.

"Don't be afraid to go faster, these brooms aren't all that old."

I curl tighter around the battered Cleansweep. I can hear it thrumming, wanting to fly higher. A shift of weight turns me around, and as I head up I look down.

Far, far below me, I can see my tiny shadow dancing across the grass. Faithful. I smile.

The witch keeps pace with me, calling encouragement that I couldn't do without. Sure I'm a Malfoy, but that just means I'm an expert at hiding my fragile ego.

The wind makes my too big clothes billow and pulls my hair out of its tie. Gusts toss the old broom so it bucks under me, and I have to grip it tight, soothing it like one would a skittish animal.

"Down now, Malfoy. The hour's over."

Really? I thought it had barely begun.

As I re-tie my tangled hair and fasten my cloak over my shoulders, another Professor appears on the pitch. It's Dumbledore, with a very sombre expression. Madam Hooch goes to talk to him, and I pack my things into my satchel. This doesn't look good.

"Leila," he calls. "Come here a moment please."

I walk over to them. I don't understand what this is about.

"I'd like to see you in my office, once you have put away your broom."

"Why sir? Have I done something wrong?"

"No dear, this isn't your fault. I will see you soon," his tone is clear - It's not safe to talk in the open.

"Yes Professor."

~~~~~

The Quinkins were inspired by creatures in Australian Aboriginal Dreamtime stories. But besides the name there aren't many similarities.


	13. Yes, Trouble

(Not a very good title this time, but whatever.)

****

Yes, Trouble

~~~~~

"Your father paid me a visit."

"Father?"

"Please, sit down Leila."

I obey automatically, sinking onto the couch as I stare at the headmaster.

"He knows you're here."

"I knew he'd find me eventually," why can't I feel anything?

"He can't take you away."

"He won't. I'll leave - "

"Where would you go?" Kind eyes observe me from behind half-moon spectacles. Kind. That was my first impression of him. "He can't take you away Leila, because he doesn't have custody of you any more."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I've explained your case to the ministry - your _real_ case. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy are no longer your legal guardians."

I freeze at a sudden memory, a scent of flowers, a song. "Mother . . . " it's barely a breath, but he hears me.

"How long has it been since you last saw her?"

"I . . . I cannot remember."

A glass of cool water appears from nowhere and he gives it to me. I sip slowly.

"Professor Binns has been informed you will not attend his class today."

"But - "

"You will stay here. Read if you will, or sleep. Fawkes will keep you company." The phoenix inclines its head in my direction.

"Yes sir."

He stands and moves for the door.

"Sir?"

"Yes?" he looks back. Late afternoon sun reflects off his glasses and I can't see his eyes.

"What did Father say?"

He doesn't answer for a long time. When he does, he bows his silvery head and looks away from me.

"That if you weren't who you are he'd have killed you years ago."

And he leaves, closing the door behind him.

I curl up in the corner of the sofa and hug the cushion to my chest. Fawkes makes a sad noise and flies across the room to perch beside me.

"Why?" I ask him, I ask you, I ask myself. "Why does the world have to be as it is?"

But no one has an answer for me.

~~~~~

For the second time I hear a knock at my bedroom door. But this time I roll over and ignore it, I am not in the mood for Draco right now. He would remind me too much of a mother I haven't quite forgotten.

"Alohamora," he whispers. The door opens.

"Go away," I mumble into the pillow.

"Leila?" That's not Draco. I sit up.

"Harry."

"I didn't see you at dinner, are you alright?"

"Did Snape tell you I was here?"

"Um . . . " he trails off, looking uncomfortable.

"And here I was thinking I was safe."

He leans against the doorframe, slipping his wand through his belt. "Why weren't you at dinner?"

"I happen to enjoy my own company." Why do Gryffindors bring out the worst in me? But Harry doesn't appear to notice my tone.

"You weren't at lunch either. Hermione told me she ran into you."

"I'm sure she told you what we spoke of as well."

"No actually. She said something vague about snakes then left for the library. That was it."

"Sums up the conversation fairly well." My, that was an easy lie. Or half-lie at least.

"Your father came to the school today."

It takes a lot to hold his gaze. His eyes are very green.

"I know."

"Why?" Like leaves glinting with dewdrops.

The silence goes on.

"Can I come in?" he asks at length. "Or will you make me stand in the doorway all night?"

"You're planning on staying all night?" I have inherited the lightning quick Malfoy tongue.

He ducks his head. The tips of his ears go pink.

"I can see why my brother likes to tease you," I smirk. "It's very easy."

Harry steps inside and closes the door behind him. "I didn't come to talk about your brother."

"Why did you come then?"

He stands in the middle of the room, hands in pockets. I cross my legs and rest my palms on my knees, my back straight.

"What kind of Malfoy has a house elf for a best friend?"

"The kind that gets rescued by said house elf."

"Rescued?"

"Have a seat Harry. This might take a while." I shuffle back and he comes to sit at the end of my bed. He's decidedly uncomfortable with this arrangement.

"What do you want to know?"

He shrugs. "Whatever you're prepared to tell."

~~~~~

I'm crying by the end of it.

I can't believe I'm crying. But when I reached the point of my most recent interview with Dumbledore, I thought of my mother and the tears began to flow.

Nor can I believe that I'm sitting next to my twin's nemesis, on my bed, with his arm around my shoulders and his hand wiping the salt dewdrops from my face. His skin stings mine.

Pray shadow, that this moment is not broken. I couldn't take that now, not after today.

"What do you remember of her?" he whispers.

"A lullaby. Falling asleep in her arms."

His other arm pulls me closer, and I relax, accepting this for what it is. A Platonic kind of comfort.

"I wish I could help."

"Don't worry about it. You don't have to save everyone." Although I can't see his face I'm sure I hear him smile.

"Can we be friends, Leila?"

"If you want to. I have no pride left to lose."

His arms are warm, and I shift so I am closer to him.

"How did the lullaby go?" he asks.

Very quietly, I begin to hum. As I close my eyes it's like I'm with my mother, listening to her singing to me. Listening to her voice fly like a bird broken out of its golden cage. I don't know the words, I'm not sure if there are any. As my voice fades away, Harry's takes up the tune, and I smile.

Slowly I begin to drift, thinking nothing in particular as I listen to the simple, yet haunting song. He lays me down gently and pulls the blanket over me, hanging my school robe on the bedpost. I feel him sit beside where I lie, still singing wordlessly.

The last thing I remember is his lullaby, and his hand smoothing back my hair.

~~~~~


	14. Snakes

****

Snakes

~~~~~

Eyes meet across the width of the Great Hall. Harry graces me with a smile before returning to his breakfast. Ron frowns and Hermione doesn't seem to know how to look. But I just sit down at the end of the Slytherin bench, alone again but feeling better with the knowledge that I have a friend.

~~~~~

Potions first off. I'm early, by accident, and I help Professor Snape set up.

"What's today's lesson sir?"

"How to find the breed of a snake from the properties of its bone. Put out these, and the tripods."

"Snakes feature a lot in potions, don't they?" I walk down the aisle, placing a white porcelain heatproof dish in the middle of each workbench. "Their bones, their skin - venom sometimes."

"We haven't got up to venoms yet Malfoy."

"It's in our book sir."

"I _set_ your book Malfoy, I do know what's in it."

For some reason his bristling tone doesn't make me cringe and turn away. He sounds like Draco when he's annoyed and snapping at someone. I smile.

Snape glares and holds out a pile of small canvas bags filled with bones.

"Hand these out at random."

"What sort of snakes are they from?"

"All sorts."

"From other places outside Europe?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Other places."

"What - ?"

"No more infernal questions, Malfoy. Just work."

~~~~~

"The potion you will be brewing today will require working in pairs," I glance at Draco but Snape goes on, "which I will select." Some students make irritated noises but he ignores them and reads from a list; "Granger and Crabbe, Potter and Malfoy, Longbottom and Parkinson, Thomas and Zabini, Weasely and Malfoy, Finnegan and . . . "

Draco asks, "Which Malfoy?" but Snape doesn't hear him. It seems it's up to us. I glance over at Harry and Ron.

What could be worse, my brother and Potter or my brother and the Weasel?

Harry catches my eye. He makes a wry expression and gathers up his books to move. We swap places.

Gingerly I sit beside Ron, keeping my things in a small pile.

"Hi," I say. He ignores me and begins to arrange our ingredients. I see Draco make some comment to Harry but Harry just gives him a cool look then gets to work.

This will be a long lesson.

~~~~~

"Good heavens Longbottom. You haven't managed to destroy anything this morning."

Neville cowers in his seat, looking as if he wishes he were a house elf. I know the feeling.

"_And_ you are correct, your bone sample was from a king cobra. Five points to Gryffindor."  
There is a moment of silence in the room. Ron looks awed. But Snape continues;

"My congratulations to you Parkinson, for supervising him. Ten points to Slytherin."

Ron clenches his fists. I frown. Why is it a Slytherin trait to cheat?

Snape moves through the room, marking down students who surmised incorrectly, and giving grudging praise to those who were correct.

"Malfoy and Potter. You believe your snake was a . . . ?"

"Boomslang sir," Harry answers.

"Of course you'd know all about boomslang _skin_ Potter, wouldn't you? But yes, you're right." He ticks a sheet of parchment and looks over to us.

I scan my misspelt notes again. When the bone was powdered and added to vinegar the solution did not change colour. The melting point of the bone powder was 120 degrees C. It did not react when mixed into a solution of thistle milk and nettles -

"Weasley, Malfoy. I presume you have finished by now?"

"Uh, yes Professor," Ron says, stalling. We haven't really.

"Well? What did you find?"

I think it's the bone of a taipan but I'm not actually sure. We haven't finished distilling it -

Wait.

"Well?"

A taipan is useless for magical purposes. No part of it, not the venom or skin or bone has any power at all. Neither does squib blood.

But wizard blood does. And if something magical is mixed with something non-magical, it won't react.

I hope Ron forgives me. But if we don't get this assignment right Gryffindor house will pay.

"We discovered sir," I stand up from the bench as I speak, reaching across the desk for Ron's notes. "After going through the list you gave - oh!" My arm 'accidentally' knocks over the glass tube of powdered bone; it smashes into long shards and the white powder spills. Ron jumps, and tries to grab his written work to rescue it from the mess, but there is broken glass all over his parchments.

I wince when he slices his finger. Blood drips and he makes a sound of pain.

I stare at a tiny crimson spot in the dusting of white powdered bone. No reaction. It's bone from a non-magical animal.

"It's taipan bone sir," I smile.

Snape glowers at me.

"Correct. Get to the hospital wing Weasley."

And he leaves for the next table.

"I'm sorry Ron," I say quietly as I begin to clean up.

"You did that on purpose?"

"We would have failed the assignment."

"Merlin," he wraps a handkerchief around his finger. "You're worse than Hermione."

"You're okay?"

He awkwardly puts his things in his bag, and gives me a half smile. "I'll be fine. Um, I'll see you in Divination?"

"Yes. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," he leaves the dungeon, his white handkerchief quickly turning red.

~~~~~

Sitting next to me in our next lesson, my brother begins his interrogation.

"What the hell was that?" he whispers.

"I don't know what you mean," I whisper back.

"What did you do to the Weasel?"  
"We hadn't actually finished our experiment, and the fastest way I knew to make sure of the snake type was to see if it reacted with wizard blood."

"What are you talking about? Snape wouldn't set an assignment like that."

"If we'd had time to do what he'd set we could have figured it out. But we were out of time."

I notice Professor McGonagall half watching us from the front of the room.

"How did you know taipan bone wouldn't react?"

"It was the only non-magic snake on the list," I look down to my book as McGonagall stands up from her desk.

"But Snape didn't tell us it was non-magic," he frowns delicately.

"It's in our book - " I freeze as his black and silver pencil box suddenly transforms into a yellowy brown snake. Draco shoves back his chair and jumps to his feet as the snake rears, its head weaving from side to side.

McGonagall smiles thinly. "The taipan may have no magical attributes Mister Malfoy, but its poison will still have you dead within a matter of minutes." She flicks her wand and the snake is gone. Draco sits down slowly, fuming at the witch. He really needs to get his temper under control.

"Please don't talk in class Mister Malfoy."

"Yes Professor."

~~~~~

More will come with Lucius soon - he does nothing in haste that man. Which means it'll take a chapter or two. Ugh. Sorry.


	15. Futures

****

Futures

~~~~~

Professor Trelawney frowns at me as I enter her classroom - late. I just smile and sit down next to Harry and Ron. Ron shows me his healed finger, it's good as new.

Only one more hour until I can get back on the Quidditch pitch with Madam Hooch. I am really not in the mood for Divination.

"Today we will be learning palmistry. Even those of you with no gift of sight may still be able to discern something from the lines in your partner's hands. Please get into pairs."

"Professor?" I raise my arm. "There seems to be an odd number."

"Very well," she snaps. "Work with another pair."

Harry grins at me. It feels good to have allies.

The three of us sit in a small circle as Professor begins to point out certain lines on a large diagram at the front, naming each one and what it means.

"You don't seem to have a fate line Harry," Ron says. "Explains why your life is pointless."

"Wait, he does," I trace the crease down the centre of his palm. "It's just very faint and broken up."

Professor pricks up her ears. "An uncertain fate line means a difficult and painful journey through life, with an obscure destiny."

"Wow, something new and different for me," Harry mutters. "Let me see your hand." He and Ron bend over my left palm, frowning studiously. Around the room teenagers mutter and talk, discussing the probable length of their lives or their likelihood of marriage.

"Hmm . . . "

"Interesting . . . "

"What do you see?" I ask, playing along.

"This looks bad Leila," Ron sighs. Over his shoulder I see Trelawney listening intently.

"Your fate line is even more broken than mine, it's all over the place - "

" - your life line is crooked, and has a gap in it part way through - "

" - and you don't actually have a heart line."

"That's impossible!" I gasp in mock horror, knowing the last part is a blatant lie.

"I'm afraid it's true." Harry echoes Ron's sigh. "You're destined for a life of loneliness." He gives me a look of earnest sympathy before taking my hand in both of his. "I'm truly sorry," he says softly. "You have a good soul, and I hate giving good people bad news."

There is a moment of silence in our circle before Ron cracks up. The teacher glares at us, and even I can't hold back laughter.

Eventually we quieten down. The class continues around us, a few students actually making some progress.

"I can hardly believe this," Ron says. "We're sitting with Malfoy's sister and actually having fun in Divination."

I smile, but I wish he didn't have to mention Draco. I hate to think what he'd say about my new friends.

But the ringing bell saves me from responding.

"I'll see you later Harry, bye Ron."

With my satchel over my arm, I practically run for the Quidditch pitch.

~~~~~

I sit alone at dinner, wishing I could be in the kitchens as I slice my crumbed chicken into small pieces.

Suddenly there's someone beside me, Draco. He has a knack of appearing as if from nowhere.

"Father owled me."

"About what?"

"You."

I pause with my fork halfway to my mouth. Then I regain control and continue eating calmly. I raise my eyebrows at my brother as if to say 'So what?'

"Don't you want to know what he said?" he takes a folded parchment from his robe pocket.

I shrug. It takes a lot not to snatch the letter from him.

"Here," he holds it out. "Only a Malfoy can read it." I set down my cutlery and take the letter. The harsh contact of it against my skin almost brings tears to my eyes.

__

Draco. Do not try to protect her. It is folly.

I expect an explanation of your silence immediately. It is imperative that she returns here.

That's it. Two lines of curling green script. But it's like I can hear his voice in my head, the cold sneer that holds no feeling but contempt.

Why am I important to him?

"I don't understand," I murmur to my brother. He just looks at me, his expression grim. He suddenly looks older than he really is. "What are you going to do?"

"I wrote back that I didn't say anything about you because I didn't know you were here. It's only been three days since you started school - he just might buy it."

"He won't. You know he won't."

Draco just turns to his plate and begins attacking his dinner. We don't say anything else.

~~~~~

More ripped off Matrix lines in here. Can you spot them?


	16. Gyrffindors and Danger

(Please note there is a time lapse of about six weeks between last chapter and now.)

****

Gryffindors and Danger

~~~~~

I try to continue life as if there is nothing wrong. Dumbledore assures me I am safe here. Father cannot take me away.

So I read, I write, I study and I fly. I learn. Weeks pass. I get on with things, trying to forget the shadows that are hanging over my head. They're cold shadows, not like you.

~~~~~

Harry and I have a lot in common. He's told me about Lord Voldemort, and about what happened to his parents. He visits me often, sneaking out after curfew under his invisibility cloak. I've told him not to, but he just laughs and says that he needs to break rules, it's part of being a Gryffindor.

He should have been in Slytherin.

For what it's worth, I listen to him. He's explained the story of the Philosopher's Stone, the Chamber of Secrets, his godfather Sirius Black, and what happened last year at the Triwizard Tournament.

Then again, his dangerously trusting nature is very much a Gryffindor trait.

"You're a fool you know, Harry," I tell him as he sits beside me with his head on my shoulder. "An utter fool. Worse than Draco."

"That's the first thing I've ever heard you say against him."

"Well it's true. He shows too much of what he is, it endangers him. Like it does you. Both of you show the world far too much."

"You don't show the world enough."

"I guard myself."

There is a pause. I realise that this is what people call a companionable silence. And I realise I'm comfortable with this boy, he gives freely and asks nothing but that I take.

"We're friends, right Leila?"

"Of course we're friends."

"Nothing more?"

"Nothing more."

"Good," he sounds relieved. I look down at him against me; his hair ruffled and glasses askew. I'm puzzled. Does he think that I might want more than this? I'm happy as I am.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"Why don't you and Draco like each other?" Where did _that_ question come from?

"He's a Slytherin, he's awful to my friends, he's been awful to me - "

"To a lesser degree all that applies to me as well. Yet look whose arms you're in."

"It's different. For four years all he's done is make my life hell. I don't know why. He offered to be my friend at first but I said no."

"Why?"

"He said that there were the right sort of wizards to be friends with, and the wrong sort. He said Ron was the wrong sort. And I basically told him to get lost."

"That sounds like something Father would say. Maybe some of his prejudice rubbed off on Draco."

Harry sits up, moving so he can face me. "What are you saying? That Draco's not the ferret he seems to be?"

"I don't know. I just don't understand how he could hate you so much. He doesn't see you the way I do. Sometimes I don't understand him, other times it's like we're one mind. Look, I'll talk to him."

"Why?"

"It saves me trouble. How do you think I feel when my twin and my best friend are sworn enemies? If you are at least allies, I'm the one who wins."

He gives me a wry look. "How very Slytherin of you."

"How very Gryffindor of you to notice."

His mouth splits in a grin. He looks like a little boy.

"Now go, it's Saturday tomorrow and you have training."

"Will you come?" he pulls an old sheet of parchment from his pocket.

"Maybe."

"I could teach you Quidditch."

"Uh, no. Not with an audience."

He shrugs and taps the paper with his wand, murmuring "I sincerely swear I am up to no good." Lines flood the paper and he squints to read it. "Good, Filch is in his office. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yes Harry. Goodnight."

As he swirls his cloak around him I hear him laugh softly. "Goodnight Leila." Then he is gone.

~~~~~

"Any word from Father?"

"No. That's why I'm worried." Draco toys with his eggs, mixing the golden yolk with the melted butter that has spilled from his toast.

"When was the last letter?"

"He hasn't owled since I made excuses for not writing about you," he speaks quietly, his head bowed.

"Have you written to him since then?" I sip my tea and try not to let my hands shake.

"No."

"Maybe you should."

"And say what? 'Hello Father, I've been consorting with _her_ for about six weeks and I thought you might like to know. Sorry I haven't handed _her_ over yet, I'm getting around to it'."

I look at my plate. I still don't understand why Father would want control over me. It doesn't make sense. I'm nothing.

~~~~~

The Gryffindor team is good. Fast, efficient, and skilled, the seven of them work together with a single purpose, a single mind.

Much better than the Slytherins.

I sit in the stands with a book in my lap and a pencil in my hand, drawing. The Weasely twins are playing with only one bludger, hitting it back and forth between them. The chasers toss the quaffle in a circle, first using one hand then using two. Harry and the keeper are discussing tactics, flying back and forth above the other players.

"Hi Leila."

Hermione sits down on the bench near me. I smile at her.

"What are you drawing?"

"Nothing."

"How did you go in that Potions test?" she changes the subject quickly. It's always a little awkward when I'm talking with her, but we hold an alliance of sorts. I suppose her place as the only girl in the Trio has been threatened.

"Alright. Snape marked me down for spelling errors but other than that it was fine. What about you?"

"Not bad. It reaches a point when he has to give marks based on the answers, not the student. He's not the nicest of teachers."

"Hermione Granger judging a teacher?"

"You'd be surprised Malfoy. If you can hang out with Dobby I can hate Snape."

I grin. "Deal."

She smiles and looks back up to Harry. "Show off."

I follow her gaze. Harry is trying to explain a move to Oliver Wood and is dangling from his broom by one hand and one leg. I have to laugh. He looks like an idiot.

"I heard that you fly too."

I glance back at Hermione, surprised. She just shrugs.

"It's a boarding school. Everyone knows everything eventually."

"I've been having lessons with Madam Hooch."

"Didn't you learn in Australia?"

I stop. I don't want to have to lie to her. But I don't know that I can trust her.

I shrug. She doesn't push the issue.

Which I can't help but find odd.

~~~~~


	17. More Slytherins

****

More Slytherins

~~~~~

"Hey, squib!"

Not again.

I turn around, automatically weighing this up. I'm in a little used corridor somewhere between my Potions room and the Great Hall. There are five older Slytherins, boys and girls, facing me. Advancing slowly.

I'm in trouble. It's just before lunch so Dobby is busy. This corridor isn't widely known, so besides the five who followed me here I can't hope that anyone else will pass by.

"Can I help you with something?" I ask the biggest Slytherin.

He sniggers, "You could leave the school."

"I'm afraid that's impossible." Since when was there a wall behind me?

"In that case - " His fist slams up under my ribcage. I double over, gasping for air. My bag falls and I hear tinkling noises as bottles of ink shatter. Again and again fists collide. I fall to the ground despite trying to fight back, then they kick and the broken glass all over the floor cuts me - and that's not red ink I can see.

"What in the name of Merlin do you think you're doing?"

Snape. Good heavens, I never thought I'd welcome the sound of his voice. I try to get my breath back as he yells at the students, sentencing them all to detentions. I can't help but notice the point deduction is minimal.

When they're gone he approaches me. "Are you alright Malfoy?"

I crawl to my knees, "I'm fine sir - " but I can't stifle a cough, and pain pricks through my chest.

"Broken ribs," he snarls. One hand snatches my bag from the ground and the other takes my elbow, gently. "Come on."

~~~~~

I'm in the hospital wing. I'd hoped to avoid this place for a least a full term.

Why is it all medicine has to taste so foul? Madam Pomfrey frowns as I struggle not to cough up the blue 'Abrasi-off'. According to her it will speed the healing of my many cuts from the broken glass.

I hope I don't get visitors. It seems an awful cliché that I should be reduced to having friends sit by my bedside and tend to me. Ugh. It's only a few broken ribs after all, and I will be better by tomorrow.

~~~~~

"I heard about it." Draco invites himself into my room and sits down at my desk. "Bumblebore was furious. He wrote letters home to the Slytherins himself."

"Hush brother. My head hurts."

"I know. Mine does too, remember?"

"I'm sorry."

He sighs heavily. "It's okay. I just wish I could take a break or something. Get away for a day. All this with Father, these stupid racist 'housemates' of ours - "

"Racist? You're not the only one."

"Me?"

"Don't play innocent Draco, it doesn't become you. I know what you think of Granger."

"The mudblood? Oh yes, her. Well what else can I ridicule her about? She obviously doesn't care about her appearance - "

"Why do you have to ridicule her at all?"

"I'm a Slytherin, she's a Gryffindor - "

I make a disgusted noise and throw a pillow at him. "I didn't think you'd 'buy into' all of that. Just because Gryffindors are Gryffindors doesn't mean you have to hate them all."

"Are you sure you're my sister?" he throws the pillow back. "Anyone would think you're a Harry Potter groupie."

"What's a groupie?"

"Never mind."

"I don't see why you hate him."

"I don't see why you don't."

"He's nice, friendly, funny, clever, we have a disturbing number of things in common - "

"Oh no," Draco cringes. "This sounds like 'star crossed lovers' shit."

"Don't swear. And Harry and I are friends, nothing more."

"You admit to being friends with Potter?"

"Yes."

"That's it. What have you done with my sister, imposter?"

I sit up, balling a fist. "Do you want me to prove who I am?"

He waves the threat away, toying with one of my quills. "So, you sit with him and the Weasel in Divination, you've been seen watching him at Quidditch practice, talking in the halls between classes - "

"How many spies do you have?"

"Lots. So how close are you and the Holy Trinity?"

"Hermione's on and off but Harry, Ron and I are friends. I get sideways looks from the rest of them, but they're okay."

"Ye gods. A Slytherin who's chummy with all of Gryffindor house. Salazar must be coiling in his grave."

I sigh and roll over on my bed, turning by back to him. "Shut it Draco."

"Sorry Leila." That word never seems to come easily from his mouth. I roll over again.

"Why do you hate Harry?"

"It's become a habit," he shrugs. "It's kind of corny really. Some stupid comment he made wounded my pride and I - with all my eleven years of wisdom - decided I hated him. But now," he makes a helpless gesture, "It's just a bad habit."

"What about Ron and Hermione?"

"Still poor and stupid, still too smart for her own good with awful hair. I'm not that fickle with my enemies to like them too."

"So if you see Harry will you be civil to him?"

"Why should this bother you?"

"It doesn't, it's just easier for me if you aren't at each other's throats. You're very alike actually."

Draco makes a gagging sound.

"Believe it or not, you are. You're both proud, stubborn, obstinate fools, and if you were friends it would make this school an easier place to live in. Now get lost, I'm tired."

"Goodnight Leila."

"Goodnight Draco."

~~~~~

I've realised that Leila and Draco don't really sound like they're fifteen. Ah well, I blame it on their father.


	18. Time Alone

****

Time Alone

~~~~~

"Mister Malfoy, your turn."

Draco stands and walks to the front of the classroom. McGonagall points her wand menacingly at him. I watch. Around me the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs sit in total silence.

"Now, when I transform you I want to you pay close attention. When the change is complete you must then attempt to reverse it using the methods you've been taught. You don't want to look over your notes again?"

"No professor." Even if he did, I know he wouldn't.

"Very well then. _Morphus Sillabub_."

It's over quickly. Where Draco was standing is a pale gold tomcat, seated calmly. Only the tip of his tail flicks back and forth.

The cat stands and stretches, muscles rippling from its shoulders and down its back. Professor McGonagall frowns. He should be trying to change.

"Malfoy."

The cat ignores her and begins to saunter down the aisle. The students stare, amazed.

"Malfoy!"

Nothing.

"Emma, shut the door," a Hufflepuff girl jumps to obey but Draco bursts into a run, tearing out the door before she can even stand up.

I scramble out of my seat along with the class as McGonagall dashes past us, moving faster than I've ever seen her do.

But we only catch a glimpse of a yellow streak before he disappears around a corner. McGonagall clenches her fist around her wand, trying not to swear in front of us.

"That boy will be the death of me one day," she manages to hiss. Then she turns around, and we fall back as one.

"All of you stay in that classroom and begin your homework. Leila, come with me."

"Where are we going?" I ask as I run to catch up with her.

"Dumbledore."

~~~~~

"Do you have any idea where he might have gone, Leila?"

"No sir, none at all. He said yesterday that he wished he could take a break, just for a while, but he didn't say anything about where."

Dumbledore turns to his desk and quickly writes a note, which he folds twice and gives to Fawkes. "Give this to Professor Sprout in greenhouse three. Quickly please." The phoenix takes the paper and flies straight out the open window.

"I'm calling Mister Potter to Gryffindor tower, we can meet him there."

"Why sir?" The two Professors and I begin to descend the stairs from the headmaster's office.

"I believe he has something that may help us find mister Malfoy."

His map.

~~~~~

"Mister Potter, may we borrow a certain piece of old parchment from you?"

"Parchment?"

"They need your map to find Draco," I explain.

"Oh." Without question, thankfully, Harry runs up to his dorm. A minute later he is back with the activated map.

"Thankyou kindly," Dumbledore smiles, and hands it straight to McGonagall. She scans over the tiny pictures and names.

"How did you know about the map sir?" Harry asks the headmaster.

"Your father had his share of belongings confiscated Harry."

"Oh."

"He's not on the map Dumbledore. I'm afraid he's left Hogwarts already."

Harry gives me a reassuring smile but I can't return it.

~~~~~

I sit alone at the table at dinner, listening to the headmaster as he addresses the students.

"If anyone finds or sees the cat, they are to immediately tell a teacher and if possible catch it. If anyone finds Mister Malfoy in his normal form the same applies. But until he is found, try to continue your lives as usual," he looks at me when he says this last sentence.

I doubt if can follow his advice so easily.

~~~~~

"Hsst, wake up."

"Draco?"

"No, Harry."

"Oh," I open my eyes, trying to focus on his scruffy black hair and green eyes. "Sorry. I thought they'd found him."

"It's alright. If Ron disappeared I'd be the same," he sits back on his heels, kneeling beside me. I try to wake up properly.

"What do you want?"

"For you to be happy."

"Huh?"

He laughs softly, little more than an exhalation.

"I've got a surprise for you."

"Surprise?" I frown. Doesn't he realise my twin is -

"Leila, I know what you're thinking. But I know this guy, he may be a ferret but he's smart. If Draco doesn't want to be a cat then I'll bet he isn't. He's probably in Hogsmeade getting drunk and having fun."

The frown is by now a fully-fledged glare.

"Seriously, it's only been a day and a half since he went. If he was in trouble you'd know, right?"

I look down. Yes, I would know.

"So I think you need some time alone as well. Now get dressed and come on."

"What sort of 'surprise' is this?"

"You'll see."

~~~~~

The night sky. I stop in the middle of the pitch. And I stare heavenward.

Harry lets his cloak slip to the ground, uncovering us, and I know he's smiling at me as I take in the stars.

They're like diamonds. Like tiny sparkling jewels scattered millions of miles above us. It makes me feel small, taking in the width and depth of the sky, but I still like the feeling. It's like all my worries are for naught, because there's a reason the world is as it is.

"Come on," Harry touches my arm. "Let's fly."

~~~~~

There is a way to make the world stand still. That way is to forget that the world even exists. My life has been simplified to what I'm feeling now; cool, soft, fast, velvet, silk, air, light and shadows. There is nothing that matters except my grip on the old broom and the wind in my hair and way the starlight makes my skin glow.

"You look so much like Draco," Harry comments as he flies beside me.

"You're the first to say that."

"It's true. You've got the same silver eyes, same hair if his was longer, same skin. The same smile even. Both of you are like - fallen angels or something." That speech cost him, he's blushing a little.

I display the smile again. "We are twins, Harry."

"Not identical though."

"No."

I tilt downward, and he follows. We land and dismount.

"Why'd you stop?"

"We've been out a while - "

"Not very long." He pauses, and I see his eyes go to my borrowed school broom. He holds his out to me. "Want a turn?"

"On your broom?"

"You've been deprived with those Cleansweeps. Go on, give it a whirl."

I glance around from some kind of paranoia, but there's still no one here excepting us.

"Alright."

Harry takes my broom and hands me his Firebolt. It's warm, not just from the magic, and shines silver where the moonlight hits it. Still I hesitate.

"Off you go," he smiles, the Cleansweep over his shoulder.

I mount and kick off. And I am amazed.

The broom is light and agile, like riding a sunbeam. I don't go too high, but try a few low circles and turns. It seems that it responds to a mere thought; not a shift in position.

"Faster Leila. Have some fun."

I flash him a Malfoy smile. Lightening fast I pull up, ripping the wind to pieces. I turn and spin in a downward spiral, then curve out of it again. I soar up and around the stands, through the goal hoops and back around the stands again. Far below Harry waves to me.

Anyone could fly well on a broom like this. It's so easy.

On a night like this, I can believe that my life is worth something. When I feel like this, I might even believe that I'm beautiful.

As I lean forward to swoop down to the grass, I gasp. Sudden pain knifes through me as if I've impaled myself on an upheld sword. I shake my head to clear my eyes and fly lower, managing until I'm about six feet from the ground. Then I simply fall.

Harry drops my broom and runs to where I curl on my side, clenching my teeth to stop myself screaming.

"Leila! What is it? What is it?"

"Draco!" the name is torn out of me and I bite down on the howl that wants to follow it. I know this feeling. But it belongs in darkness and cold and damp, deep in the earth beneath Malfoy Manor.

Father has my brother. And he's hurting him.

~~~~~


	19. Plans

****

Plans

~~~~~

__

You know where he is.

Come and get him.

In Dumbledore's office I re-read the letter for about the fifteenth time. It's from Father; nobody else can see the elegant green writing.

"When did you receive this?"

"At breakfast sir."

I put the parchment down on his desk. It's actually left burns on my hands.

"I'm afraid we can't let you follow this through."

"But sir, Draco - "

"Where do you believe he is?"

"Malfoy Manor."

"Then you must let aurors from the ministry search the Manor and find him."

"Father would be ready for that sir. He must know that I would come to you, he must know what you'd do. But he wouldn't expect you to let me go myself."

"Leila, no. I'm sorry but sending you alone into this would be foolish and pointless. You'd be caught."

"Perhaps that's what he wants."

"What do you mean?"

I shrug.

~~~~~

Somehow I make through a day of school. I take notes, write down homework, but by the evening I cannot even remember which classes I attended.

Harry visits me, dear predictable Gryffindor that he is.

"Ron thinks I have a secret girlfriend," he smiles as he proofreads my Potions notes.

"Do you?" I sit cross-legged on my bed, wading through Herbology homework.

"God, no."

"Why not?"

His quill hovers, then circles a spelling mistake. E and I again. "This is hardly the time Leila."

"Come on Harry," I look at him over the edge of my sketchpad. "I'm drawing diagrams of weeds, any conversation is better then this." Anything to distract me.

He doesn't answer. But a Slytherin always gets what she wants.

"Why won't you tell me?" I ask, tinging my voice with fear of losing our trust. The act works.

He takes a deep breath. "I don't, that is, I'm not . . . I don't _like_ girls. At least I don't think I do."

"Oh." Merlin, I'm stupid. "Okay."

"You don't mind?"

"Why should I? It's not as if I had any designs on you. Besides, I've seen how you look at Draco."

"What!?"

I let myself laugh, caught in the moment, "If you could only see your face right now. Don't worry Harry, I'm kidding, I'm kidding."

"Damn you Malfoy."

Suddenly I freeze, dropping my book.

"Leila!"

I curl up, hands grabbing and twisting the sheets. Pain lashes across my back and I almost feel my blood flowing from the cuts of the . . . belt, Father's belt with the silver buckle in the shape of a coiled snake.

I feel hands on my shoulders; Harry trying to stop the pain. But I can only curl tighter in a protective ball, wishing it were truly me and not my twin who felt this, who felt the bite of chains into wrists and the burning of leather and metal splitting the skin.

Slowly it fades. Slowly I come back to myself and notice Harry's arm around my waist and the tears wetting my pillow.

"Are you alright now?" he is warm and comforting at my back.

"Not exactly."

There is a silence. I lie still, trying to sew the world back together.

"Damn Dumbledore."

I expect Harry to leap to his defence, but all I hear is a soft "Why?"

"I have to help Draco. But he won't let me. How can he think I'll just stay here at school while Father . . . " I fade into silence.

"You feel everything Draco feels?"

"Only the extreme pain, and it's fainter when it reaches me. So whatever pain I feel, he feels it far worse. _I_ can live with it," I roll over to face Harry, looking up at him, "but I can't live with him in pain. He's my twin, he's . . . my brother. I've got to do something."

"But what can you do? You're only a teenager, and . . . "

"A squib."

"If a dozen aurors can't save Draco how can you?"

"Father told me to go and get him."

"It can't be that simple."

"Maybe it can. Maybe I turn up at the manor and walk down to the dungeons, open the door and let him out. I can't think of anything else."

"How can you be sure he's at the Manor? Isn't it too obvious?"

"Father will have him hidden. But I know I'll find him."

He stares at me, our faces only inches apart. "You're going to do this?"

"Yes." And I know that I will.

"When?"

"I'll leave tonight." If I don't I fear I'll lose my nerve. I sit up, but his hand on my arm stops me from sliding off the bed. I turn back to him. He's got an odd look on his face, fear and determination.

"And you call _me_ a fool," his mouth twists. "I'm coming with you."

"No - "

"You can't expect to leave me behind. I'm a Gryffindor, remember? We're renowned for stupid spur of the moment acts of heroism."

"Damn you Potter."

"Oddly enough I can't wait to hear Draco say that."

~~~~~

What can I say? I've read too much fanfiction lately - it's twisted my idea of the canon Harry. Sorry.


	20. Journey

****

Journey

~~~~~

"So you know how to get to the Manor?"

I adjust the strap of my satchel and keep walking. "I think so."

"You _think_ so?"

"I know the way there from London."

"Well you're lucky I know the way to London from here," Harry smiles. "If we follow the train line from Hogsmeade we'll be fine."

"If anyone sees us we'll be recognised."

"We'll avoid people. I brought _my_ cloak, even if you didn't think to find the one Dobby leant you."

"If I had, then Dobby wouldn't have let me leave," I glare at him briefly. I'm glad he chose to come with me, even though he shouldn't have. It's a very good feeling to know I'm not alone.

But of course I'm not about to tell him that.

~~~~~

Harry has fire in a jar. We sit on the ground in the forest, facing each other over this bottle of blue flames.

"Drink?"

"Thankyou," I take the flask of pumpkin juice. Somehow he managed to filch 'supplies' from the kitchens before we left without being caught in the halls. We eat a slice of bread each, and a chocolate frog, then put the fire back in Harry's bag and lie down to sleep, his cloak covering us both.

"Harry?" I murmur.

"Yes?" his voice is muffled in my shoulder.

"I think it is a good thing that you are, how you are."

"Why?"

"This would be unbearably awkward if you weren't."

One arm is wrapped around my waist, and he gives me a half-hug. "Leila, you're the twin I never had."

I shut my eyes, my head pillowed on my bag. And I'm glad he does not expect a reply, because for the life of me I cannot think of one.

~~~~~

Dawn sees us walking along beside the rails. In the trees I can hear birds singing with voices like silver and gold. If birdsong had a physical form, it would be long fine chains and delicate jewellery.

The sheer wideness of the world amazes me. It's so big. To either side the ground falls away, we walk along a ridge. I look around, seeing trees and rolling hills and flowers and long grass rippling with the wind. Fences here and there, with animals lazily cropping grass.

If we weren't on our way to Father I could enjoy this. If my brother weren't in danger I could laugh at the birds swooping and diving and turning like Quidditch players.

But as it is . . .

"How much farther to London?"

"I don't know really. The train only takes a few hours, but this is our second day walking. I didn't think it would take so long."

I hear a _pop_ behind me.

"Was that you Harry?"

"Was what me?"

I turn.

Standing in the middle of the train tracks, his bright red and yellow socks clashing with the grass growing through the rails, is a distraught house elf.

"Miss Leila must not go back to Malfoy Manor!"

"That sounds horribly familiar," Harry comments, coming to stop beside me.

"Dobby." I really should have known. Of course they'd realise we were missing and come after us.

"Miss Leila _must_ come back with Dobby."

"No. I have to help my brother."  
"But - "

"No Dobby. Just go and tell Dumbledore that I have to do this myself." I turn on my heel and continue walking.

"M-Master Dumbledore does not know that Dobby is here."

What?

"If Miss Leila will not return straight away to Hogwarts, then Dobby will help her find young Mister Malfoy so _then_ she can return to Hogwarts."

"Did he just say what I think he said?" Harry asks quietly.

I look back. The elf looks up at me with bulging eyes, his ears flat against his head.

This elf is the first friend I ever had. This elf saved my life.

"You're serious Dobby?"

"Yes, Miss Leila."

I turn away, "Come on then."

"Miss Leila?"

"What?"

"Dobby can take you immediately to Malfoy Manor."

Harry and I exchange a look. "How?" he asks.

Dobby _pops_ to my side and takes my hand. "Come Mister Potter," he waves to Harry.

"Will this hurt?" he cautiously allows the elf to grip his wrist.

"Not much."

__

POP!!

~~~~~

*Crazy Dance* Cliffhanger! Don't worry, I'll be quick.


	21. The Manor

****

The Manor

~~~~~

All I can feel is Dobby's bony fingers clutching mine, and wind. Like I'm falling from a broomstick a hundred feet from the ground. I can't see or hear anything.

__

Wham!

Harry and I tumble as we hit the grass hard, rolling to a halt. Dobby hops from one foot to the other with a worried look on his face, concerned for us.

"Ow." Harry flops on his back, spreadeagled. "That's worse than using a Portkey."

"Portkey?"

"Never mind. Are we at the Manor?"

"Yes Mister Potter," Dobby comes quickly to our aid, helping us to our feet. "We are in the woods on the west side of the Manor, but we must be quick. Mister Malfoy is at the ministry and Misses Malfoy is at her cousin's house."

"How do you know?" I comb leaves from my hair.

He just winks at me. Must be an elf secret I haven't heard of. I recall my parents used to be his masters.

"If we hurry we can find young Mister Malfoy before they get home."

"Okay then, come on Harry," with more bravery in my voice than I really feel, I jog through the trees and across the immaculate lawn toward my prison.

~~~~~

My ancestors glare at me as I pass, whispering to each other across the borders of their portraits and frowning down at Harry. He casts nervous glances behind him, but I look ahead and ignore the hostility seeping from the walls. We are not wanted here. If it could the very Manor would throw us out.

I pause as we reach the grand staircase, leading to the private rooms of my parents on one side and Draco's on the other. But below the stairs, made to blend into the wooden panelling, is a door.

Without a word I run my fingers along the joins. It hurts, but I don't pull away. And there, there is one point where it is burning hot to the touch. Biting my lip I press the palm of my hand to the hairline crack. A click, and I step back as the door opens outwards.

I glance at my hand. My broken and disjointed fate line is seared and burnt.

"Lumos," Harry whispers behind me.

And we descend into the shadows I know so well.

~~~~~

Wooden steps become stone, and I can taste the damp and the oldness of the air. Harry raises a hand to the wall to steady himself and recoils from the slick rock with a quiet

"Ew."

"Shh."

"Sorry."

Dobby hangs back, only just staying within the circle of light.

I don't need the light. I can see just fine. Only a little further now.

As I reach the bottom I pause. The narrow passage opens into a wider room with a stone floor and walls. Against the far wall I can see him, head bent and legs against his chest, his arms above him chained to the wall.

When I step into the room his head snaps up.

"No - "

He cannot see my face. Harry's light is behind me, and my twin cowers in my shadow, trying to shrink into the wall. He thinks I'm Father.

"Draco, it's me."

"Leila?"

"Yes," I run the last few steps, falling to my knees and reaching for him. His face is covered in bruises and cuts, and his once white shirt - school shirt - is torn and dirty.

"Is he alright?" Harry asks, coming closer.

"And here's Potter to save the bloody day," Draco raises his head, squinting up at the Gryffindor. His hair is messy, it covers his eyes. "How _bloody_ typical."

"I'd say he's alright," I answer. Harry just grins for reasons known only to himself. "Dobby, could you come here?"

The elf sidles up to Draco, ears completely flat. He's shaking.

"Could you undo these cuffs Dobby?"

With a snap of tiny fingers Draco is free. His arms fall limply and he gasps at the pain of blood returning to them.

"Now get up," I pull him to his feet, holding him up by the shoulders. He's very light. These few days shouldn't have taken such a toll on him. This is Father's hand.

Between us, Harry and I get Draco across the room. Although exhausted, he manages some very creative swearing directed at 'Potter', whose benign smile only serves to make Draco angrier.

He can't manage the stairs.

"Draco, listen to me."

"What?"

"Harry's going to have to carry you."

"No."

"Tough luck brother, it's that or we leave you here." I take Harry's bag and wand and help him hoist Draco onto his back. My twin gives up; weakly wrapping his arms around Harry's shoulders and letting his head rest on them.

~~~~~

"Can't we just pop out of here?" Harry asks Dobby, staggering now as we leave the hidden stairway.

"It isn't possible to apparate from inside the Manor to outside of the Manor, Mister Potter."

"Didn't the muggles teach you that?" Draco mumbles.

"Malfoy, I am _this_ close to dropping you."

"Who's there?"

We all freeze at the woman's voice above and behind us.

"Tinky? Is that you?"

We're still under the second floor balcony. I can hear light footsteps descending the grand staircase.

I know her voice. I know who this woman is.

"Misses Malfoy," Dobby whispers.

Draco clings tighter to Harry and doesn't say anything.

"Hello?"

I can see her, see her fine blonde hair twisted up and her dark blue gown that trails behind her as she crosses the marble floor, searching for the intruder. She grips her wand in her right hand. In a moment she'll turn and see the four of us.

Finding nothing and deciding she imagined the noise, the woman turns. And stops short. She raises the wand and is about to cry a spell but I step out of the shadows -

"Wait."

She stares at me, taking in the platinum blonde hair and eyes such a pale blue they appear silver.

"Oh dear gods," she whispers. "Leila."

The sound of her elegant voice speaking my name is almost too much.

"Mother." For an eternal split second nobody moves. I can see everything in a moment, and every lullaby she never sang is in her eyes.

A sound. She hisses one word "Hide!" then sweeps toward the front hall. Harry slips back into the dark stairwell, Dobby follows and I get in only just in time, pulling the door almost shut. Draco has his eyes shut, head lolling.

I can hear Father talking to Mother, explaining that he needs to find a book in his library for someone at work. I can imagine her smiling as she offers to get him a drink, something to eat. But no, he is in a hurry, and must get back to the ministry quickly. Dobby clings to my leg, quivering in fear, his eyes scrunched shut. Their voices fade slowly, and I whisper to the elf,

"Can we make a run for it?"

"I-if we are very very quick, yes. They are in the library now."

I push open the door. There's no one in sight. Gripping the bags and Dobby's hand tight I burst into the open, looking over my shoulder. Harry leans forward when he runs, balancing Draco precariously. Our footfalls are loud as we flee through to the entrance hall and head for the still open front door. Light sparkles through stained glass windows and I hear a portrait yell an alarm. Then we're tumbling down the front steps and Draco falls and Harry wraps an arm around him and grabs Dobby's other hand and then -

__

POP!!!

~~~~~


	22. Hogwarts

****

Hogwarts

~~~~~

We collapse in a heap on a stone floor. Silence reigns as I pick myself up, looking around.

The whole school stares back. We're in the Great Hall, and it's lunchtime.

"Leila," Harry whispers. He's still sitting on the floor with Draco out cold in his lap. Quickly I reach down and haul my brother off him.

"Miss Malfoy." Professor Dumbledore walks calmly down the centre aisle toward us. A slight smile shows through his beard.

"Professor. Mister Potter and I found Mister Malfoy."

He smiles wider. Pulling his wand from inside his robe, he flicks it and my twin floats up off the ground as if he is on an invisible stretcher. With a gesture to Harry and I to follow, the headmaster leaves the hall in the direction of the hospital wing, Draco hovering before him. Dobby has hidden himself.

Behind us, the rumour mill cranks into motion.

~~~~~

"Broken ribs, concussion, severe bruising and lacerations with a risk of infection," Madam Pomfrey's voice is tight with anger. "This boy has been beaten to within an inch of his life."

Harry and I sit either side of Draco on our own hospital beds. Draco is asleep, his skin pale beneath purple bruises and angry red cuts.

"I must say it is a good thing you rescued him when you did," Dumbledore admits. "But you still shouldn't have done it."

"Had the aurors searched already?" I ask.

"Yes. They couldn't find anything in the Manor itself or in the grounds."

"The door was under the grand staircase. I suspect only a Malfoy could have opened it, which meant Father, Draco or I. Not Mother."

"What makes you say that?"

"She would have freed him if she could."

I can tell from his face that he does not believe me. At this point I'm too tired to care.

"Both of you will receive detentions for deliberately disobeying school rules. And both Slytherin and Gryffindor house will receive fifty points each for your bravery. Provided of course that you never do it again."

"Yes Professor."

"Yes Professor."

"Now try to sleep. Madam Pomfrey, when Draco wakes please send for me."

"Yes Professor Dumbledore."

~~~~~

I awake from a bad dream, sitting bolt upright and staring blankly around the ward. Moonlight streams through the tall narrow windows, fractured by the uneven glass.

Beside me my twin lies stiff and motionless, his eyes open. I slip out of bed quietly, crossing to his side.

"Draco?" his hand, as I take it, is cold. Weakly he turns his head.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left. It was stupid."

For a moment I don't understand but then I remember the cat.

"I just wanted a day alone. One day. But there was a damn Portkey. When I went to my dorm to get my cloak I saw a parcel from Father that hadn't been there before. And when I went to pick it up it was a Portkey and I got taken home."  
"You're safe here now. It's alright."

"You're a good liar, but a liar all the same."

I hold his hand in both of mine as if I can will him to heal. I wish he didn't have to suffer what he did. I wish Father had never laid a hand on him. I wish Father were dead.

"I have to get Madam Pomfrey - "

"No. Not now. Just let me sleep tonight."

"Alright brother," I turn to my own bed but he catches my hand and I turn back.

"It's cold," he whispers.

I smile in reply and slide in beside him, careful of his bruises and strapped ribs. Curled protectively around my twin, the squib keeps the pureblood warm. How very un-Slytherin.

~~~~~

Nothing has changed. When I walk the halls the other students stare or ignore me. I say hello to the paintings. In classes I almost always sit alone. I listen attentively and work diligently. At lunch I avoid the issue and visit Dobby, who is also being ignored. Poor little elf. He at least had friends to lose.

Harry grins and Ron nods, Hermione glares. I suppose I _did_ encourage Harry to break a school rule.

My flying lesson comes without anything untoward occurring.

Until Professor Snape appears on the pitch.

"Malfoy, get down here."

I swoop low and swing off the broom easily. He doesn't know I've been practising smooth dismounts for an hour.

"Yes sir?"

"Do you know anything about Quidditch?"

"Uh, yes sir. A little."

"You do know your brother is the Slytherin seeker?"

"Yes sir."

"There is a match on Saturday, Slytherin versus Ravenclaw. He won't be ready to play in three days."

Personally, I doubt I'd be either.

"It's been decided you're to replace him."

"What?"

"Get practising Malfoy. Groves is a very competitive player."

"Groves?"

"Aisling Groves, the Ravenclaw seeker. I trust you'll at least recognise her on the day of the match." And then he sweeps away without a backward glance. Madam Hooch gives me a sympathetic look and begins to teach me how to play Quidditch.

~~~~~


	23. A Fight And More Quidditch

**

A Fight and More Quidditch 

**

~~~~~ 

"Look, when you simplify the role, all you really have to do is catch the yellow thing and avoid getting hit by anyone or anything else."

"Thanks Harry. That's _really_ helpful." I get up from the sofa and begin stalking from one side of the room to the other. Ron glances up and gives me a smile then goes back to his game of wizard solitaire.

After accidentally getting lost and stumbling upon the Hufflepuff dormitory, I have discovered that my 'house elf privileges' have not yet been revoked. So now I'm pacing the length of the Gryffindor common room, trying not to destroy anything.

"That's an illegal move sonny, you can't put me there," the Jack of Spades warns Ron.

"I don't even know who my team mates are, I haven't met them." I shove my thumbs through my belt.

"They'll be the ones wearing green."

"Just be quiet and let me grumble in peace, Harry."

Snape's last minute choice has only given me a few days to train, during my free lesson and in the afternoon. Which means I've spent a grand total of seven hours learning how to find a tiny flying ball smaller than my fist while not falling off my brother's broom.

The match is tomorrow. I don't think I'll last the night.

Maybe Draco will make a miracle recovery and be able to play.

Or maybe the Dark Lord will apologise to the Boy Who Lived.

"Why are you two still up - " Hermione breaks off as she comes through the door and sees me. "What is _she_ doing here?"

I don't move.

"Relax Mione, Leila's not doing any harm," Harry smiles. Ron pretends to be utterly engrossed in his cards.

"How well do you really know her Harry? How do you know she's not another ploy of Voldemort's?"

"Hermione, are you crazy? Leila's not - "

"A Malfoy?" she raises her eyebrows.

"Just because I'm a Malfoy doesn't mean I'm my father," I protest. "I know what side he's on, and I'm not with him."

"You're still a Slytherin."

"Slytherins are a bunch of arrogant cheating stupid purebloods and I wish I wasn't one of them."

"So what house would you rather be in? Who are you really?" she puts her hands on her hips, leaning forward aggressively. In her red and white striped pyjamas she looks faintly ridiculous.

I shrug. "I'm Draco's twin."

"And your first allegiance is to him, not Harry."

"In all honesty, yes."

She steps back and looks at the boys with a triumphant gleam in her eye. I realise I've said what she wanted me to say. "See Harry? She's not who you think she is."

"Mione - "

"I've been doing some research. She's not from Australia, there's no record of her transferring from another school to here."

"Mione - "

"She's been in England all her life, probably at Malfoy Manor. I also found out some interesting facts about wizarding twins - "

"Mione!"

"If you kill one, the other dies. Lucius wouldn't harm her because he'd hurt his only heir - "

"_Mione!_ I know that!"

She stops, staring at Harry. "What?"

"I know Leila's not from Australia. I know she's been kept in a dungeon all her life under Malfoy Manor, I know her father _did_ hurt her with the second illegal curse, and would have _killed_ her if not for Draco."

Hermione takes another step back. Ron is looking at me with wide eyes; he didn't know half of this. I wish I wasn't here.

A tense silence falls. Hermione drops her eyes to the floor. I try to keep my breathing under control and restrain myself from throttling the Golden Boy.

"And I also know," Harry speaks very quietly, "that she risked her life to rescue her brother. Not because she wanted to save herself or stop the pain she felt every time Draco was beaten, but so that _he_ wouldn't suffer any more. And I - don't - give - a - damn if her first allegiance is to him. He's her twin."

I can't hear what Hermione says, but I see her mouth form the words, "I'm sorry."

"Say that to Leila, not me."

But when she turns to where I was, I'm gone, hiding in the shadows again like a house elf caught unable to apparate. And silently I sneak back to my room through the hidden tunnels of the school.

Why did he do that? How could he spill fifteen years of secrets in just one minute?

Am I angry or am I upset? Even I don't know. I should be furious, but I think I'm relieved.

In any case it takes me a long time to get to sleep.

~~~~~

The day is cold, overcast and windy. What marvellous weather for my first Quidditch match. My team glares at me but refrains from comment while Madam Hooch is here. The Ravenclaws stand together, brooms held casually over their shoulders as they quietly discuss last minute tactics. Even on the ground they look like a better team. Their seeker, Groves, is small and very thin with light brown hair and wide eyes. Harry said she only joined this year, replacing Cho Chang.

My stomach seems filled with spiders. Is this nervousness? I fiddle with the buttons on my borrowed Quidditch uniform, hoping the overlong cloak won't hinder me.

"Here we go," Hooch casts a stern glance over my team. "Try and play a clean game today, all right?" with a brief smile in my direction she adjusts the whistle around her neck and marches out onto the pitch.

Dear gods, please strike me down now.

I look up at the stands, searching for familiar faces. Harry and Ron, are waving. Hermione is a few seats away them. Across the pitch on the green side, the Slytherins are on their feet yelling. Draco sits in the front row, wrapped in a thick black cloak and wearing his school scarf. When he sees me he gives a small, tight wave.

I shouldn't be here. They should have postponed the match until he could play.

"Mount your brooms," I automatically swing my leg over Draco's Nimbus 2001. When the whistle goes I kick off, soaring above the rest of the players, Groves close beside me. I see the quaffle thrown high, a red blur, and then I switch off. Catch the yellow thing and avoid getting hit by anyone or anything else. That's all I have to do.

I hover over the game, scanning the field for a familiar golden sparkle.

"So, Malfoy. What are you?" I don't look away from the pitch as Groves comes closer to me. "Another glaring example of nepotism?" When I don't answer she flies under me and looks up, blocking my view. "Cat got your tongue, _squib_?"

I pull to the side and begin to circle the perimeter of the oval. "I thought Slytherins were the only cheaters in this school."

"Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire."

"You'll only end up with ashes, Aisling." I lean into the broom, going faster to get away from her. Everything dims as I focus, the crowd is only a muted hum, I only notice the commentator when he calls out the points tally. Fifty Thirty, Ravenclaw leading.

But it's only just begun.

I fly lower when I see something near the Hufflepuff stands, but it's gone in a second. Above me I hear Groves laughing.

Focus Leila, focus.

I hear it before I see it. And I respond without thinking, throwing myself to one side as the bludger whooshes through the air where I'd been. I hang upside down from my broom by the crook of one knee and a hand. Laughter ripples through the crowd and for I second I see Harry, shaking his head and smiling. Quickly I pull myself back up and fly higher again. That was a keeper move, not a seeker move. Stupid Leila. Don't forget about the flying cannonballs.

Groves is almost cackling when she swoops by me. "That was one of your's squib! Even your own beaters would rather lose than have you play."

"Ravenclaw scores again, now leading by forty points!"

"Go back to Australia squib, no one want's you here."

I scan the crowd. Draco is looking up at me, worried. For his sake I'll win this.

If I can find the snitch quickly I can beat Ravenclaw. But if I don't then at this rate we'll quickly be too far behind.

I begin to circle again, flying carefully around the pitch above the other players. The wind makes the Nimbus buck roughly under me and my hair slowly comes untied.

"Ravenclaw scores _again_! Now leading by sixty points!"

I'm tempted to repeat some of Draco's wide vocabulary but I concentrate harder as platinum obscures my view.

Wait! I see it! Hovering unsteadily in the middle of the pitch, level with the first seats in the stands, is the 'yellow thing'.

I can't let Groves see it. She's closer to it and her broom's faster than mine is.

"Hey squib!" I look behind me as a Ravenclaw beater swings his club, and then all I see is the cannonball coming straight for my head.

I skid around and aim for Aisling Groves. Leaning forward, I speed toward her, the bludger so close behind me I know she won't be able to see it.

"What the - ?" she stares blankly at me, and I hear Hooch's whistle. They think I'm going to ram the opposing seeker.

I'm not that stupid.

Groves tries to turn but she can't handle the Firebolt like Harry can and she's slow. Busy trying to escape me she doesn't see the sparkle still dancing about ten feet below her.

At the last moment I throw my weight forward and to the left, swerving into a side-dive and dropping like a stone, one arm out.

Above me Groves squeals as the bludger slams into the back of her broom, snapping it in two.

My fingers close around the snitch.

And someone lands on me. Both of us almost fall as the Ravenclaw slides off the side of the Nimbus, and I have to grip it hard to not go upside down again. Lying flat I hold the broom tight and the snitch tighter, and hope my robes don't tear as Groves dangles below me, clutching my overlong cloak.

Madam Hooch rescues the girl, catching her around the waist so she can let go of me. Balanced again, I sit straight and hold my fist in the air.

Draco is laughing hard for me as the commentator yells, "Malfoy has caught the snitch, Slytherin win by ninety points!"

Groves is taken to the ground and the Slytherins race around the pitch in a victory lap they didn't earn. Harry and Ron cheer and even Hermione claps politely.

This shouldn't be my moment. This should be Draco up here.

But I allow myself a second of happiness. I won.

To quote Ron, this feels 'bloody brilliant'.

~~~~~

Man I love Quidditch. Do you think it's possible I'm a muggle-born squib and don't know it? In that case I could learn how to fly a broomstick . . .

To everyone who's reviewed: thankyouthankyouthankyou!!! But seeing as this site is giving me grief I may have to remove this story and completely re-post it; not every chapter shows and some are out of order. If I re-post the story I'll lose all the reviews. But hopefully it won't come to that. Wish me luck.


	24. Detentions

****

Detentions

~~~~~

A brief dip into euphoria only makes reality worse.

According to Harry, Argus Filch is also a squib. I hope I never become as embittered as he is. But bitter or not, the man is still horrible. I think his perfect day would consist of finding a dozen students out of bed after hours and duelling in the astronomy tower, and then being allowed to dangle them from their hair inches beyond the reach of the squid in the lake. And, of course, discovering that his lack of magic was just because he's a very late beginner, and not a squib at all.

When I mention as such to Harry, he laughs so hard he almost knocks over his bucket of slugs. Filch dropped us off outside Hagrid's hut for our Saturday night detention, and after reading the misspelt instructions the giant left for us, we set out crawling through leaf litter in the forest looking for quinkin food.

"I suppose this could be worse," Harry says, plucking a beetle from his hair. "I mean, we could be scrubbing the Great Hall with toothbrushes or something."

"It wouldn't be so cold."

"True. Oh, hold still - " he holds up a finger and motions me to silence. I pause, wrist deep in mulch, and listen. I can't hear anything, but through the earth I feel something. A tremor, like a creature is galloping toward us. Harry grins and gets to his feet, shaking the mud off his hands. I follow suit, trying to work out what animal would make that vibration.

A shadow appears through the trees. It slowly moves forward to where there's more light, revealing a large black dog, its head out low and nose sniffing.

"Is that Snuffles?" I whisper.

The dog looks at me harshly, padding closer. Critically it sniffs my grimy palms, my second hand jeans.

"Yes," Harry nods, "Snuffles, this is Leila. Leila, Snuffles."

"Hello," I greet Harry's godfather. I could swear the dog frowns before turning to Harry and brushing against him. Then within moments the animagus is gone.

"He's off to see Dumbledore I guess." He almost goes to wipe his eyes, but then takes another look at his filthy hands.

"I think we've got enough slugs Harry."

"Uh, yes. Let's go in."

~~~~~

When we enter the Great Hall, McGonagall intercepts us on the way to Gryffindor tower.

"Mister Potter, Professor Dumbledore would like to see you."

"Yes Professor."

~~~~~

I don't find out until later that night what Dumbledore wanted with Harry. He appears in my room with an expression I've never seen him wear; outright fear.

Voldemort's army is massing. Harry tries to explain the details as he sits numbly beside me, but I can get little sense from him. The giants are on Dumbledore's side. The ministry members are slowly beginning to choose sides of their own. Some, like Fudge, are in denial of what is happening. Most are with Dumbledore and helping gain allies, sending overseas to other large wizarding communities for support.

Sirius is in the thick of things, still not pardoned, and staying in the country to run errands and messages for the headmaster.

Sirius is the reason Harry is told all this. Sirius puts himself in danger from muggles and wizarding folk from both sides of this war, and Harry can barely take it. He worries when Sirius is in the country and not in hiding, and just recently Sirius was almost caught by a Death eater after spying on a meeting.

Harry pauses in his narrative, bowing his head.

I whisper something meaningless and comforting, and then the dam breaks.

The Golden Boy leans on my shoulder and cries, silent tears that hurt me when I wipe them away.

He cannot let this out to anyone else. Hermione would try to reassure him and Ron would shy away from the tears. I just sit here and let him cry. He's done the same for me.

Over Harry's shoulder I see the door open the barest crack. A glint of platinum and silver, the door opens further. Draco stares at the sight of his nemesis broken down.

Hold him back shadow. Do not let him speak.

But he does not, only looks at his enemy with a rare emotion in his eyes.

My brother meets my gaze. And I am moved at the sorrow in him, the regret visible in the way he sags against the doorframe.

After a moment's pause Draco pulls back, slips away from my hidden room, and the Gryffindor who lets down all barriers because he thinks himself safe here.

I carefully remove Harry's glasses and let him lie down, curling around my pillow.

No one should have to live as he does. No fifteen-year-old boy should be burdened with the responsibility and pain he carries heaped upon his shoulders. Let it slide Harry. Sleep here, I'll guard you when you cannot guard yourself.

I sit beside him and hum quietly, remembering the lullaby that forged this bond.

I had no pride left to lose that night. Neither does he, now.

Pray shadow. Pray that Draco keeps another secret, pray that he keeps this one closer than all the others.

Harry breathes deep and even, asleep already.

I will not sleep tonight. I cannot.

~~~~~


	25. Author's Notes I'm sorry!

I'm sorry. I really really really am. I fully intended to finish this story, to weave a cunning little plot with hints of Voldemort's rising and Malfoy falling for Potter.

But then I read OotP and I can't bring myself to do it.

Maybe with some serious editing I could alter this to a sixth year fic, but in the meantime Malfoy is _way_ too out of character, and to continue the story in this vein would be completely ignoring how much of a slimy git he is and how strongly he resembles his father.

I won't try to redeem him. There are dozens of authors who can do that better that I could hope to.

To all those people I promised a finish to - I'm _really_ sorry. Below is the most recent chapter I've written that hasn't been posted. You can see from this where I would have taken the story. But after OotP I can't muster any fluffy sentiments where Malfoy and Potter are within hexing distance of each other.

****

Hogsmead

It's a peculiar feeling to know that there's no one to look after you. I've never really had any 'carers', but now that Father has no power over me I feel curiously adrift. As if I have no ties to anyone, and am an entity unto myself.

But of course I do have ties; obligations, friendships, and allegiances to Draco, to Harry, to Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape and the elves. And now I realise that these connections anchor me somehow, give me something to grasp when the tide pulls too hard.

But these connections are only in my thoughts, and are not legally binding.

I'm getting to know Dumbledore's office very well. Sitting awkwardly on the arm of the sofa, I listen as he explains the status quo.

"As far as the ministry is concerned, you're in need of parents."

"Foster parents?"

"Yes."

"But, I stay at school all the time."

"Not in summer I'm afraid. You'll need a wizard family to go home to for the three months, and guardians who would sign permission notes for you and other such irritating paperwork."

I fiddle with the cuff of my shirt. At his desk, the headmaster smiles over his glasses.

"How are they chosen?"

"A family will be chosen for you."

"By who?"

"I will have some part in it," his voice is sympathetic. "Don't worry about it Leila. For the moment Snape will sign your paperwork for you, including your Hogsmead pass."

"Hogsmead pass?"

"Your brother will explain, I'm sure. Here's the note, by the way."

Confused, I take the small parchment.

"I will tell you when a family has been chosen."

"Thankyou sir."

~~~~~

"I told you you'd love Hogsmead."

"Ah, but remember brother, we Malfoys trust no one."

"Not even ourselves?"

"_Definitely_ not ourselves."

A rare smile graces him for an instant. Sun highlights his hair and eyes, and somehow makes his black cloak even darker in contrast.

"Look, there's the Three Broomsticks."

Hogsmead is all new to me. Muggle London was crowded and just a little bit gloomy, but this little village is bright. It's full of wide streets, buildings made at odd angles, horses drawing buggies with smart clips of hooves, and wizarding folk in robes getting on with their lives.

Draco is amused by my fascination with simple things, like shop windows with the specials written in paint that shimmers and changes colour. He leads me into the pub and orders two Butterbeers and water. He's learning.

"Check this out," he whispers, and pulls a small vial from his shirt pocket. Three clear drops of liquid in each glass, then he slips the potion away.

"What exactly is that?"

"Doesn't matter. Try it."

We lurk in the corner, and the owner isn't watching us like she was before. I glance around, double checking there's no one I know here.

"C'mon you Charlie, try it already."

I sip from the tankard. My first impression is of cream. But then there's a sharp bite of something stronger, and I feel alcohol burn the back of my throat.

"Like it?" he grins.

"Not bad. But if you drink the whole thing I'll have to carry you back to school."

"Nah, I'll be fine."

~~~~~

He's not drunk, or even tipsy, but his smile comes easier when we leave the Three Broomsticks.

"Leila," a voice I didn't want to hear today. The first member of the Holy Trinity.

"Harry."

Ron and Hermione hang back a little, frowning at my brother. Hermione won't even look at me.

"What are you up to?" Harry glances at Draco but speaks to me.

I shrug, "Not much. Just after a change of scene."

"Potter."

Uh oh.

"Morning Malfoy," Harry smiles just the littlest bit.

"Nice day isn't it?"

Hermione stiffens. Ron stares. Draco Malfoy being civil to Harry Potter? He must be drunk after all.

I look closely at my brother. He doesn't quite smile, but he's not sneering. His tone isn't friendly, but neither is it cold.

"Yes, it is."

And I remember what has passed between these boys. Harry helped me save Draco's life. Draco saw Harry broken down and crying. Little things such as these are bound to alter perspective.

"Harry," Ron comes up to take his friend's arm. "If we want to visit Zonko's we'd better go."

Draco inclines his head and steps away, perfectly composed.

"Bye Leila," the enemy hesitates, "Draco."

"Potter."

"Bye Harry, later Ron."

And we quickly move away from each other, as if not wanting to take such volatile risks as my twin and Harry talking about the weather.

"What _was_ that?" I ask.

"Nothing. Just being 'civil' like you told me to."

"Oka-ay." I bury my hands in the pockets in the lining of my cloak. The sun may be out but it's not warm.

"You cold?"

"Just a little."

He takes my arm and changes direction.

"Where are we going now?"

"Shopping."

I give him a disbelieving look.

"If you imply for one moment that shopping imparts feminine attributes upon me I'll kill you." Draco pauses outside a clothes shop. Above us the sign declares "Don's Duds 'n' Dags" in loud red letters. He drags me in.

It seems the shop is unattended. My twin lets my arm go and begins to flick through a selection of cloaks on a rack.

"What are we doing here?"  
"Getting you a decent cloak for a start."

"Draco - "

"Winter's coming on, and believe me the school ones aren't warm enough."

"I haven't any money."

"I do. And you're a Malfoy, so really it's your money too." I glare at him, and though his back is to me I know he's smiling. He turns, "Here, you like this one?"

It's a curious fabric, light but strong. Black, to the ground, with a hood and inner pockets for the hands. There's so much of it I have to take it from him and hold it up.

"Try it on."

"No - "

"Leila."

"Fine," I hand him my school cloak and sling the new one around my shoulders. It's light, but instantly warm. I check the tag; it's made of alpaca fleece. And it's very expensive.

"Don't argue about the price," he catches my expression. "That's why I chose it."

"Can I help you?"

I jump at the voice from the back of the shop. A man comes out, light brown hair curling over his shoulders. He smiles with businesslike charm.

"Looking for any cloak in particular?"

"This one," Draco smiles back. "And she'll need a skirt." I give up protesting.

"To match?"

"No, something dark green I think."

"You can look over here . . . "

~~~

Draco carries the boxes back to school. Thankfully I was able to convince him to stop at a cloak, skirt, scarf, and lined leather gloves. He's unaccountably cheerful as we walk through the Hogwart's gates.

"What's the matter with you?" I ask. I expect him to deny there's anything different but he falls silent. "Draco?"

"Later."

~~~

Distant sounds of laughter and voices filter through the stone of the castle. I curl up on my bed and my brother sits down beside me. I cannot help but notice his hands are trembling.

"What is it?"

"I don't know. I feel tired and achy, but I don't know why."

"Father?"

A shrug. Then he changes the subject, "What was with Potter?"

"When?"

"The other night."

"That's not for me to tell you. You could ask him."

"Dragons may freeze. As if I'm going to just waltz up and ask 'Hey Potter, why were you bawling your eyes out in my sister's lap?'"

"The cynic act is getting old."

"You started it."

"Did not. But at any rate I can't tell you."

He humphs and twists around so he can flop on his stomach.

"Why did you buy all those things for me?" I ask.

"You're a Malfoy. I can't have my sister looking like a Weasely."

"But - "

"It's your money anyway. So don't complain."

He pillows his head on his arms, looking away from me. Shifting closer to him, I run a hand down his back. I can feel the bones of his spine and ribs. My twin sighs, relaxing a little.

"What's wrong with you Draco?"

No answer. I continue to stroke his back, liking the smooth material of his dark red shirt. Cotton, and an old one, softer through wear. All his other shirts are crisp and new. I wonder why this one's different.

"What happened at the Manor?"

Muscles tense. He doesn't move.

"What did Father do to you?"

"I thought you knew."

"It was more than just the curse. He's still hurting you even now."

The shirt even smells a little different. I didn't notice before because Draco had his jumper on.

"What do you mean?"

"I can tell. It's been weeks but you're still so . . . small. You seem smaller somehow."

He turns his head to face me, relaxing again into bonelessness.

"So what's your theory?" he murmurs.

I shrug, "You know more about curses and hexes than I do." He makes some sound, like a laugh and a breath.

"Whose shirt is this?"

"Potter's."

I continue to rub his back, pressing slightly into where muscles have knotted in his shoulders. It's a moment before he realises what he said. When he does he swears and turns his face to the bedspread.

"May I ask why you have it?"

"No."

"If you don't tell me I'll be forced to invent a rather incriminating story to explain you wearing Harry Potter's _favourite_ red shirt."

When he speaks his voice is muffled. I bend closer to him.

"Pardon?"

"I stole it from the laundry last week and changed the label. I don't have any red shirts."

"Okay." I pointedly don't ask why he didn't simply buy a new one of his own. "Have you studied for the Transfiguration test tomorrow?"

"No."

"You want to help me?"

"Okay." When he sits up, I ignore the slight flush in his cheeks.

Again, I'm _really really_ _really_ sorry!!!!

~ regretfully, Blake Lupin


End file.
